


what if catgirl!taylor got stuck up a tree?

by R3N41SS4NC3



Series: catgirl taylor [1]
Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Crack, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, i might get around to shipping eventually, it is not at all edited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 23,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24284872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R3N41SS4NC3/pseuds/R3N41SS4NC3
Summary: catgirl. Taylor. tree.https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/what-if-catgirl-taylor-got-stuck-in-a-tree.852736/
Series: catgirl taylor [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768327
Comments: 104
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote the chapter. the original version is below the rewrite, under the keysmash  
> to find, ctrl+f -> aklsghklgh (this is the original version) aghkaslhdgklashgklhsalgh

“Whoa. Is that _her_?” a young, nameless hero from Idaho (a cape with the ability to commune with and grow potatoes) asks, her voice tinted with awe.

“Looks like it,” says another, equally unknown rogue from Iceland (with the power to turn things green). “I’ve only ever seen pictures. Do you think she’s the real deal?”

“I’ve only heard rumors, but yeah. I hope so. This is going to suck otherwise.”

“Haha, don’t worry,” a new voice interjects. The unnamed hero and rogue turn to see one of the most famous heroes worldwide: Legend. “I’ve had the privilege of seeing her in action once or twice. Trust me, she’s legitimate. This is going to be a good day.”

Normally, calling an Endbringer attack a ‘good day’ before the battle begins would be the height of folly and arrogance. It would basically be asking to be proven wrong and annihilated; the Monsters are spiteful like that. On an average day of an attack, none should assume - hope yes, but assume no - that they will leave a battle alive and well. Thankfully, there are no more average days anymore; not since _she_ showed up, not since arguably the most powerful cape in the world, one who rivals even Eidolon, appeared. Even since she helped out in Canberra, there’s been a foreign sense of hope in the world. It was the first time that an Endbringer attack ended with double digit casualties, over in such a short time that the Simurgh didn’t have time to scream long enough to require containment.

More whispers and pointed fingers arise as the group of capes from around the world, gathered to fight the Leviathan, watch her procession. Legend didn’t get a chance to see the process last time, as he was busy blasting rainbows at an angel, but from what he’s heard and watched in briefings, it is an esoteric and unprecedented wind up. Some powers require charging or a sympathetic ritual to use (e.g. some blasters’ attacks, Myrddin’s ‘spells,’ Battery’s stillness, a changer’s shift), but this one is almost silly (like Myrddin’s ‘spells’). All eyes are alternating between _her_ trek and the approaching storm that heralds the Leviathan. Hope springs forth in her wake as she cuts through the crowd and walks to the center of the gathering place. Heroes with feats rivaling myths of old and Villains with records that surpass the devil make way for her, the most powerful rogue in the world.

When she reaches her destination, an impressively large maple tree that wasn’t there the last time Legend visited Brockton Bay, he feels the collected parahumans hold their breath. She places a fingerlessly-gloved hand on the tree’s trunk and pauses to inspect its base, looking down at the root of her destination. None can see her unmasked face through the long curtain of dark, wavy hair that shields her from view, so Legend can only imagine the expression she must be making: mouth pressed into a grimly determined line, eyes closed as she focuses and blocks out the torrential rain. With the way the feline ears atop her head twitch, she must be feeling the full weight of the world on her shoulders: something he can relate to. He wishes that a woman so young didn’t have to carry such weight alone, but that is the world they live in: a world that dispenses great power to those unequipped and unprepared to handle it.

Suddenly, she looks up and the excited whispers begin anew. With no more windup, she grabs the tree, digging claws into the bark, and begins to climb. She puts one clawed hand above the last, one spiked shoe over the other, steadily, if shakily, making her way up the trunk. She’s almost three feet off the ground when her foot slips and she drops back to the ground. Capes have to hold each other back to prevent assistance, and more than one small fight - quickly extinguished - breaks out. Her power only works if she alone is the one to do it; any help up the tree renders the process null, so they can all only watch helplessly as she starts again.

Second time seems to be the charm, as she makes it up without further complication, coming to rest on the lowest branch: a good eight feet above the ground. The relief is palpable now that she’s completed the most difficult part of her power’s windup; no one will have to fight today; no one will have to die to that monster. Victory is all but assured now, though no one moves to leave. All assembled capes remain in place, waiting for the main event now that the prelude is complete.

Stuck in a tree, Taylor Hebert, the most famous unmasked parahuman, the most powerful rogue, the hope of the world, _The Cat_ , opens her mouth and lets out her battle cry:

“meow…”

X.X

_Above a burning orphanage in France_

Scion looks up from the burning building he was about to extinguish, his attention drawn away by a primal urge, a facet of his programming. No thoughts head empty, the golden man drops the orphan in his hands back into the fire and speeds away.

X.X

_Back in Brockton Bay_

Taylor meows mournfully, trying not to look down at the hundreds of powerful people staring at her. It doesn’t help her embarrassment, as there are dozens of fliers still in her field of vision, and she can hear the murmurs. She can practically _feel_ the attention on her, and it makes her want to curl into a ball and hide. But she can’t. Nope, she’s got a ‘responsibility to the world,’ as so may people have put it.

_‘I hate this. I hate my power. I look stupid and everyone’s watching me and I can’t even run if I tried. Why couldn’t I be an Alexandria package: nice and simple. Or hell, a tinker or a blaster or ANYTHING OTHER THAN THIS?! I’d rather have bug powers, or be a super-mime, or some other lame power. It’d be less embarrassing. But noooooo~, I get to trap myself in a tree and meow for help. Why is this my life? Why must I suff-’_

Her internal monologue is interrupted by the arrival of her knight in shining skin. Scion, bathed in golden light, reaches out for her. Taylor blushes as he lifts her into his solid and deceptively gentle grasp. He floats her out of the tree and to the safety of the ground once more. Her embarrassed blush increases tenfold when he takes the time to scratch behind her ears, same as he does every time he rescues her from a tree. In a fit of anger she lashes out at him with her claws, but he only reacts by somehow radiating amusement.

When he stops and turns to leave, Taylor relaxes. It’s undignified and embarrassing to be petted like that in front of such a crowd. He sees Leviathan finally poking his head above the water and - without moving - gives the impression of a shrug, as if saying he may as well beat down an Endbringer while he’s here. When he flies off, towards the Monster, cheers sound from the assembled capes around her. Congratulations and thanks are given to her, but The Cat ignores and dismisses it all, too embarrassed by the spectacle.

Sure, she saved the Bay and hundreds or thousands of lives, but at what cost? At what cost…

**aklsghklgh (this is the original version) aghkaslhdgklashgklhsalgh**

"holy crap, is that _her_?" assault asks, voice tinted with awe.  
"looks like it," battery replies, her shoulders drooping with lost tension. "this'll be a good day, then."  
"better than a good day," interjects legend. "this will be a great day."  
normally, prematurely calling an endbringer attack good or great would be the height of folly and arrogance. none should assume to leave an endbringer attack alive or unharmed.  
but that was before _She_ showed up, before arguably the most powerful cape in the world became a regular at these battles. since she started attending these battles, there hasnt been a bad day, one like kyushu or Madison. no, there have only been good and great days, where barely any capes or civilians were lost to the monsters.  
though he's seen the event many times in the last few years, legend can never truly get over the process, the windup to her ability, the likes of which havent been seen before or since her arrival on the world stage.  
the assembled capes from around the world look on with bated breath, all eyes on the tall, slender figure that portents their salvation. heroes with feats rivaling myth and villains with more demented records than devils both make way for her, cutting conversation to whisper and gossip about the world's strongest rogue. hope springs forth in her wake.  
all eyes are on her as she reaches the tree that is her destination. it isnt an impressive tree: oak, forty feet tall, with many of its lower branches pruned away to not impede foot traffic. but, because of her forthcoming actions today, it will be commemorated and memorialized for its whole life.  
she places a fingerlessly-gloved hand onto its bark and pauses for a moment and looks down at the root of her chosen place of battle. legend cant see her face through the curtain of long, dark, wavy hair that shields her from collective view, so he can only imagine the professional, determined visage. with the way her feline ears twitch atop her head, she must be feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders, and he can relate.  
suddenly, she looks up, her unmasked face flushed with determination. without any windup, she grabs hold of the tree trunk, sinking her claws into the bark, and shakily begins to climb. she puts one clawed hand above the last, one lumberjack boot above the other, steadily making her way up the trunk. she's ten feet up when her foot slips and she drops back to the ground, the capes around her collectively gasping, their concerned whispers rising in volume. legend, like many others, would offer his assistance in her preparations, but her power doesn't work unless she's the one to do it, so he can only watch helplessly as she restarts her attempt at climbing the tree.  
second time is the charm, it seems, as she makes it up without complication, coming to rest precariously on the lowest branch: a good fifteen feet above the ground.  
smiles are aplenty now that shes completed the most difficult part of her setup. the collective forces prepared to fight the endbringer today relax, as victory is all but assured now. some pack up, preparing to return home, but most remain where they are, watching the ritual of The Cat's power. Legend watches alongside his former ward and her husband as The Cat, Taylor Hebert, the most famous unmasked rogue on the planet, stuck in a tree, opens her mouth and lets out her battlecry.  
"meow..."  
  
*** _ **elsewhere**_ ***  
  
Scion, the golden man, the first parahuman, looks up from the burning orphanage he was extinguishing, his attention pulled away by a primal urge. without any more warning, he drops the smoldering orphan and speeds away through the air.  
  
*** _ **back at the endbringer fight, inside taylor hebert's mind**_ ***  
  
"meow."  
 _i hate this_  
"meow."  
 _i hate my power_  
"meow"  
 _this is so embarrassing! everyone is looking at me and i look silly_  
"meow."  
 _why couldnt i have a different power? no other power is so demeaning. im stuck in a tree meowing for help like a damn fool_  
"meow."  
 _why couldnt i be an Alexandria package? or a tinker, or a blaster, or ANYTHING ELSE?! I'd rather have bug powers or something lame like that. it'd be less embarrassing_  
"meow"  
 _but nope! im stuck in a tree. meowing. why is this my life?_  
"me-"  
shes cut off by the arrival of her rescuer: scion, bathed in golden light, gently reaching out for her. she blushes as he picks her up and floats her down to the safety of the dirt once more. her embarrassed blush increases tenfold when he takes the time to scratch behind her cat ears, same as he does every time he rescues her from a tree.  
luckily, the scritches dont last long before he turns to fly away to avert some other disaster and sees behemoth rampaging in the distance. though he doesnt move, taylor gets the impression that scion shrugs, as if nonchalantly deciding that he may as well beat down the endbringer while he's here.  
so, as scion flies off to lay the beat down on behemoth, cheers sound from all around taylor. congratulations are had and thanks are given, but The Cat ignores or dismisses it all, too embarrassed by her showing to hear anything.


	2. catgirl!Taylor 2, the squeakquel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i refuse to edit or even reread this  
> >:3c

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh I can see the greatest problem the world has ever faced. What if an Endbringer attacks some where there are no trees? World wide government program, make sure every city has several tall tree's planted."  
> -vilkath

the endbringers were learning. as horrifying as that sounds, as terrifying as it is, its true. two years since The Cat started showing up at the endbringer fights, theyve stopped attacking places with trees. that wasnt so bad - i certainly didn't think so - until behemoth emerged in Antarctica and melted 5% of the ice, causing global catastrophe, until leviathan brought a storm into the Sahara and destroyed the surrounding ecosystems, until ziz... well shes not changed too much, but shes taken longer between showings, almost like shes sulking over being thwarted so fully. but the other two? yeah theyre still cranking out death and destruction, like theyre making up for time lost the The Cat's setback.  
but not any more.   
when i triggered and gained my powers, i knew immediately that i could fix this, that i could reverse the situation that rendered The Cat so impotent, that i could help. sure, my powers arent flashy, or versatile, or really even that useful most of the time, but here? now? this is where i can shine.   
or at least i hope so. this is my first endbringer fight and i havent really tested it with The Cat, but I'm sure it'll be fine.   
"Tree powers: Activate!" i shout, reaching to the heavens. one moment, im a scrawny 14 year old kid from Wyoming, and the next im a 60 foot tall white oak tree. despite my lack of eyes or really any sensory organs, i can still see thanks to what the online community calls 'powers bullshit.' with my nonsensical vision i take in the moment when The Cat first sees my form, a beacon in the savannah. her eyes go wide with hope and understanding, before slumping with disappointment. maybe shes worried that this wont work? regardless, her dreadful visage is replaced by a determined scowl as she approaches, scales my girth, and takes her place in my lowest bough, opening her mouth to summon the golden man to secure victory.

"meow..."


	3. i wrote this chapter at a reasonable hour so it isn't as shitty :(

Usually, school is the hardest part of the day. There was a brief period just after she got her powers that it let up, but when everyone figured out how useless her powers were, the Trio had yet another weapon against her, more proof of her weakness. Sophia somewhy especially took pleasure from taunting her over her powers, saying that not even the wards would try to recruit her; and she was right. When Taylor went to the PRT building to register as a rogue, they barely even tried to pitch the idea to her. Even though powers were supposed to signal some great change in life, a turning point, a solution to one’s problems, Taylor is still miserable and still running out of school to avoid bullies and an uncaring staff.  
  
But, like she said, once she leaves school, the day is supposed to get, not exactly _better_ , but easier to handle. More manageable at least. But what should have been a relaxing walk to the library somehow turned into a breakneck chase: Taylor Hebert on one side, a group of merchants (or maybe some other group of strung out druggies?) on the other. They got it into their heads that she was spying on them or trying to break up a deal or _something_ cape related and refused to listen to her denials, so when they moved at her, she ran and they followed, yelling insults and threats.  
  
Most people wouldn’t have that much trouble outrunning a group of druggies with degrading, rotting bodies, but Taylor is not most people. She excels in subverting expectations through no fault of her own. Expected to succeed in high school? Nah. Expected to become a hero after she got powers? Ha! Like she could even try. Expected to outrun someone with a drug habit so ingrained that he’s traded most of his teeth for a high? Absolutely not!  
  
The merchants are gaining and Taylor’s heart is pounding. Her breath is ragged and a stitch is pulling at her side. She can’t think but she has to get away but she can’t run anymore. If there was somewhere she could hide, maybe she could wait it out? But no, there’s nowhere in sight that wouldn’t be seen by the men chasing her. Suddenly, as she passes a tree in the sidewalk - a leftover from some public works initiative to beautify the city before the politicians gave up on anything outside the boardwalk - instinct overwhelms her and she crashes into it. Her claws extend from beneath her fingernails and she finds purchase in the bark and is able to scramble up the trunk and into the branches.  
  
Her muscles ache and she feels dizzy from the height and exertion, but she’s safe.  
  
She holds onto the delusion for as long as she can, refusing to look down at the men she knows are crowded around the base of the tree.  
  
“’Ey kitty kitty, come on down ‘ere, we ain’t gonna ‘urt’cha. We jus’ wanna talk,” says the man with the missing teeth. Taylor doesn’t bother responding, still breathing too heavily to think of words.  
  
“What the hell, Clem?! Like hell I’m lettin’ her off easy after she made us run half ‘cross the city.”  
  
“Shut the hell up, ya idgit! She ain’t comin’ down if she knows we’s gonna hurt her, even if she do owe us a good time,” says Clem, the man with no teeth. Taylor doesn’t want to be judgemental, but she can’t help but wonder, based on his rural accent, how much of the tooth loss is drugs and how much is just shitty hygiene. She supposes there’s not much of a difference, honestly; though its much easier to think about that than what he means by ‘good time.’  
  
Suddenly, one of the men starts laughing, like he was just told the funniest joke ever.  
  
“You laughing at me?” growls not-Clem.  
  
Other not-Clem slowly gets his breathing under control and says, “No, no, just- hah, look. Look at the bitch’s ears. She’s a cat! Stuck in a tree!”  
  
The other two must have seen the humor in the situation as the trio all devolve into laughter before shouting cat-based jeers up at her.  
  
“Aw, little kitty stuck in a tree?”  
  
“Ha! Jus’ like a ‘coon gettin’ treed by a blue tick, pussy’s too scared ta come down.”  
  
“Hey puss puss, why don’t you meow for us and maybe we’ll call the fire department for you?”  
  
“Better yet, maybe Scion’ll come get her.”  
  
“Tha’s true, Golden Man’s gotta hard-on for cats in trees.”  
  
“Meow for us, pussy!”  
  
The taunts go on for far too long. Taylor holds onto hope that they’ll get bored and leave, but the chance that that’ll happen in time for her to get home before dad is dwindling. Maybe if she gives the assholes what they want, they’ll leave her alone? So, quietly, she lets out a tiny, soft little “mew.”  
  
Suddenly, a bright and shining light illuminates the abandoned street from above. She looks up and sees a sight known the world over but never expected: Scion, the first parahuman, the greatest hero, the golden man, descending from the sky. He floats gently toward her and extends a hand. It takes a moment for her brain to reboot, but she grabs it. He pulls her to his chest and picks her up, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her shoulders. She doesn’t hear the panicked scrambling and fleeing of the druggies that trapped her in a tree, too overwhelmed by the experience of being rescued by Scion.  
  
She can’t help but notice the lack of a heartbeat, replaced by a low, soothing hum, before she’s set gently on the ground. He floats away a little while still looking at her, as if checking to make sure she’s able to stand. Instead of flying off to the next disaster like he supposedly always does, he moves back toward her and raises his hand. Her breath catches in her throat as he places his palm on her head, then scratches behind her cat ears. Only after he’s done does he fly away. Only after he’s gone does she process what just happened.  
  
Scion gave her scritches.  
  
When she gets home and Dad asks if anything exciting happened today, she can’t bring herself to admit to what had happened, instead giving a rote excuse of the library or something.  
  
“Really? Meeting Scion wasn’t exciting, then?” he asks wryly.  
  
The world freezes and her eyes finally take in the picture on the television: a group of talking heads imposed in front of a picture of Scion pulling her from the tree as Merchants cower on their asses.  
  
“Fuuuuuuuuuuu-”


	4. In response to LightsOn's question of The Cat's ability to freely leave trees

“You can do this, Taylor. Its not that hard. Normal people can do this! _Children_ can do this! It shouldn’t be this hard.”  
  
Taylor is right; it shouldn’t be hard at all. Children do in fact succeed at this with regularity. But, no matter how much she psyches herself up, no matter how hard she tries, she just can’t do it. Every time she looks down, the ground seems to fall away from her, as if Vista were cruelly pranking her. Every time she looks down and sees the unholy height, her claws dig deeper into the bark and she has to abort the attempt to climb down out of the tree.  
  
She doesn’t know why - no one does. Everyone chalks it up to powers bullshit - but still, it remains fact that as soon as she climbs a tree, she’s stuck until someone rescues her. It wouldn’t be a problem if her power didn’t come with the powerful instinct to climb trees at the first sign of danger. Humans have a fight or flight (or freeze or fawn) response, but not Taylor. Her power decided to replace all options with “climb a tree.”  
  
But that’s not the worst part. No, the worst part is that she can’t figure out how to climb down. No matter how she plans it, no matter how close to the ground she is, no matter if someone is there to catch her, she can’t climb down, can’t yeet herself from the boughs. She’s tried closing her eyes. She’s tried having Vista shrink the space so that she’s only an inch off the ground. She’s tried releasing wasps into the foliage to chase her out. She’s tried everything she can think of, but nothing works. Sure, she can fall out on accident - as proven by the wasps - but she somewhy can’t willingly leave the tree once she’s climbed it.  
  
It wouldn’t be such a problem if the city - if ALL cities - hadn’t taken an initiative to plant as many trees as possible. But nope. Now there’s a tree on every corner, in every yard, in every alleyway, on top of every building; because who needs Endbringer insurance when you have a convenient tree for The Cat to get stuck in? On the plus side, global climate change from the fossil fuels and Behemoth’s partial melting of the ice caps has stalled, but as far as Taylor is concerned, the planet can suck it. Global climate stability isn’t worth her getting chased into a tree by every random asshole who wants to see her summon Scion.  
  
She doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction, doesn’t want to allow the spread of online clout, but she just can’t get down by herself. She sighs in surrender and pulls out a cellphone.  
  
*ring ring*  
  
“It happened again?” asks an annoyed Victoria Dallon.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Do you need Amy too?”  
  
“No, no, just the tree this time.”  
  
“ _sigh_. Where are you?”  
  
Taylor tells her and hangs up. When New Wave volunteered to be her protective detail, they must not have thought it would involve getting her down from so many trees, but that’s on them. At least Vicky’s aura helps chase away the crowds and Amy’s increasingly disturbing threats cut down on violent assholes who chase her into trees. Say what you will about that girl, but she does not want to let go of her Endbringer attack vacations. Since almost no one ever gets hurt at them anymore, she can show up, heal a couple schmucks and take it easy in a new location. If she has to threaten to give some people literally explosive diarrhea, Taylor won’t complain.


	5. What even is up with catnip? like, how does it even work? cats just gotta sniff it and they get high? that's so fucking potent holy crap

“Vicky, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Taylor whines.  
  
“Oh come on, it’ll be fun.”  
  
“Not for me!”  
  
“Pleeeeeease,” Victoria flutters her eyelashes at the catgirl, laying on as much charm as possible. Taylor doesn’t react. She must be building up a tolerance to her aura. Damn. “Ugh fine, be like that. I guess you don’t want any fresh mackerel, then.” Victoria can see she’s got Taylor’s attention. Time to really drive it home. “I picked it up this morning at the market, fresh off the boat. But if you don’t want it, I can probably find someone else to share with.” She catches the flicker of desperation that crosses Taylor’s face, but still the catgirl doesn’t crack. She’s tougher than normal today. “But none of my other friends like fish that much. Maybe I’ll just toss it?”  
  
When she sees Taylor slump in despair, she knows she’s won.  
  
“Fine. I’ll do it. But this fish better be good!”  
  
Victoria pulls her into a flying hug, the pair of them hovering a foot off the ground. Taylor holds on for dear life. If not for her forcefield, Vicky would be covered in claw marks from all the times she does this against Taylor’s wishes. “Yay! Thank you thank you thank you! I’ll get it ready, then we can have the fish.”  
  
Before she can reconsider, Vicky opens up the can of catnip, leans across the coffee table, and pushes it under Taylor’s nose. A moment later, her pupils go wide and the tension drains out of her. She falls back into the couch and stares at the ceiling for a long moment. Vicky pulls out her phone and starts recording. She agreed to not post anything to the internet without Taylor’s permission after the box incident, but that doesn’t mean she can’t take a video to laugh about with Taylor and Amy later. Now though? Now is time to wait and watch the good times.  
  
It takes a while for Taylor to do anything other than absently stare at the ceiling, but when she looks down and sees Vicky, she’s not ready for the pounce. Vicky doesn’t think she’s ever seen her pounce before, but it is adorably cat-like. She wasn’t sure what was happening when Taylor brought her feet under her on the couch, but when the catgirl wiggles her butt, she has only a moment of elated recognition before 110 pounds of girl combined with an unknown number of pounds of cat is in the air between the couch and Victoria’s chair. Taylor crashes into her and Victoria allows herself to be pinned between Taylor and the chair. She dropped her phone, but Vicky doesn’t let that ruin the humor, even if it would be absolute perfection to be able to record the feral look of pleasure on Taylor’s face right now.  
  
“I got you,” she states.  
  
“Yeah. You got me. Now what?”  
  
Rather than answer, Taylor pushes her face into Vicky’s shoulder, nudging her with her forehead. She releases the tension of the hunt and collapses into Victoria’s lap, letting her arms hang limp like noodles instead of holding the blonde’s arms. Victoria lets out a laugh when a low rumble sounds.  
  
“Taylor can purr. Taylor can _purr!_ OMG that is so cute!” she whispers, holding back the squeals that such a discovery should provoke; she doesn’t want to startle her. She wishes she could grab the laser pointer on the table, or shoot laser like much of her family, to entertain Taylor, but she settles for just letting the girl cuddle and purr. She wishes the catgirl would choose another position, as her ears keep brushing against her nose, but that discomfort is a small price to pay for this.  
  
Maybe she could… Nah, Taylor wouldn’t like that. But, maybe she wouldn’t mind while she’s like this? Victoria’s never had a chance to try it before - no one can without Taylor trying to claw out their eyes - but… Fuck it, Vicky might never get another chance so she basically has to take this one now. Besides, Taylor will totally forgive her (at least that’s what she tells herself).  
  
Internal conflict resolved, Vicky reaches up and gingerly grasps a feline ear. They stop twitching. The purring dies. _Now or never_. Vicky starts scratching the base of Taylor’s ears and immediately the purring revives, louder than before. The girl in her lap seems to melt, pressing more fully into her personal space.  
  
“This is the best day ever,” Taylor whispers to herself, and Vicky can’t help but agree.


	6. What the fuck the cat? what the hell vicky? Amy's very not that good day of embarrassment and defeat

Amy was not having a good day. First, there was a pop quiz in algebra 2 that she’s sure she failed. Then, Dean kept trying to talk to her at lunch and wouldn’t take a hint. Finally, Vicky forgot to pick her up from her shift at the hospital and isn’t answering her phone. So basically, fuck today. At least she’s home, where she only has to deal with Mark’s emotional absence and Carol’s scrutiny and blame. It should be easy.  
  
It isn’t easy. Not at all. Not when the first thing she sees after closing the front door is her sister and one of the few people she actually counts as a semi-close friend. That shouldn’t be enough to set her off; Taylor and Victoria hang out without her, it isn’t an odd occurrence. But no, the painful thing isn’t that they’re together: its _how_ they’re together. Taylor, curled up on Vicky’s lap, face buried in her neck, with Vicky’s head tilted back, eyes closed while she pulls the other girl’s head further in.  
  
Good news: Vicky’s apparently into girls. Bad news: Amy is going to have to murder Taylor. The sound of her dropping her schoolbag breaks the calm quiet of the scene and Vicky looks up at her.  
  
Before she can say anything, Vicky shushes her. “Shh, she’s sleeping.”  
  
Okay, admittedly that’s not as bad as what Amy first thought was going on. Maybe she doesn’t actually have to murder her friend. The hope for a murder-free day dies when Taylor shifts and looks at Amy, her eyes lidded and smirk tauntingly self-assured. Rubbing it in?! They’ll never find the body.  
  
…Wow she’s really flip-flopping on this murder thing. Maybe she should see a therapist? Eh, later. After she gets rid of the body.  
  
Taylor falls out of the chair backwards, twisting around unnaturally - seriously, there is no way a spine should be able to bend like that - to land on her feet. She’s apparently decided to make her death quicker and easier for them both.  
  
“Oh, you’re approaching me?” Amy asks with a pissed off voice.  
  
“Intricate rituals,” Taylor murmurs, crossing the distance between them before slumping onto the smaller girl. Amy has to take a step back from the sudden weight, but reflexively wraps her arms around the taller girl to stabilize her. The sudden influx of biological information borne from the skin to skin contact between them relaxes her for a moment before infuriating her.  
  
“IS SHE HIGH?!” she hisses at her sister.  
  
“Its just catnip.” Vicky smiles apologetically, but it doesn’t hide the obvious humor she’s deriving from the situation.  
  
“Are you fucking stupid?! What if there’s an Endbringer attack and they need Taylor? What if someone tried to kidnap her? What if-”  
  
“Relax Ames, nothing happened. Plus, we aren’t due for an attack for another two months; its okay.”  
  
She’s about to lay into her sister some more, but Taylor starts giggling. Amy shoots another glare at Vicky when she starts to laugh too.  
  
“Oh no, don’t be mad you’re so pretty,” Taylor says between laughs. Amy’s face heats up, but she’s not sure if its from embarrassment or indignation. Before she can figure it out for herself, Taylor tips the scales in favor of embarrassment. “You should pet me. I didn’t know how good it would feel but it feels really, really, really… nice. Come on, its easy, like this.”  
  
Taylor starts scratching Amy’s scalp and her brain shuts down. Taylor must be really out of it to ask someone, even a friend, to touch her ears. Usually, Amy has to put people back together after they try anything like that. She doesn’t get a chance to reboot though, because it turns out that turning off one’s brain while they’re holding up someone their own weight is a really bad idea.  
  
The pair fall to the floor in a heap, Taylor on top and Amy on bottom. When her back hits the hardwood, Amy’s breath leaves her body in a whoosh and she sees spots for a few seconds as she tries to reintroduce the atmosphere to her lungs. When she can finally think and breathe again, she weakly tries to push Taylor’s head off her chest, but the girl just pushes her head into Amy’s palm and starts ~~rumbling~~ _purring?!_  
  
“Aw. My phone’s dead. Guess the video never stopped.” Vicky’s standing nearby, holding her apparently dead phone. That explains why she didn’t answer Amy’s calls from the hospital. Yay. “Hey Ames, where’s yours? I _have_ to get a pic of you two.”  
  
“Vicky, no.”  
  
“Your bag? Cool.”  
  
“Don’t you dare, Victoria. I swear to god, don’t you do it.”  
  
Her sister pretends not to hear her and rifles through her bag, pulling out her cellphone in short order.  
  
“Vicky, please. You promised you wouldn’t post any pics of Taylor online, so what’s even the point?”  
  
Vicky smirks victoriously and point the camera phone at the pair on the floor. She really should change her password, but what’s the point. Vicky’d get it out of her no matter how much Amy’d try to deny her access. Amy can hear her defeat, her humiliation, as the artificial sound of shutter clicks emanates from her phone. Vicky’ll send them to her phone and never let them go, she knows it.


	7. Whats that? good guy calvert? cauldron isn't an asshole? this story truly is crack again

When he first heard of The Cat, he knew he wanted her. The ability to call upon the most powerful parahuman at any time? Oh yes, he could see The Cat fitting nicely into his schemes. He expected to have competition, but with hometown advantage he expected to be able to act before anyone else, to be able to grab her and hide her away before anyone else could put together the actual extent of her abilities and treat her like the powerhouse she so obviously is. What he didn’t expect was that he would be precluded from such an aquisition, not by her death or her falling into another’s hands, but by way of an owed favor.

Now, instead of holding her as his own, Coil is forced to supply her with unseen protection round the clock. What’s worse is that instead of being a boon, she’s instead a detriment, slowing down his plans significantly, as he’s forced to waste resources on her protection: beneficial splits in reality being discarded because of her unrelated assassination, questions to Dinah being used on anticipating and planning around threats to The Cat, mercenaries and capes being assigned to her protective detail. If he weren’t so sure that Cauldron wouldn’t lethally stop him, he’d kill her himself just to be done with it all.

But no, all he can do is trudge along in his conquest of Brockton Bay. He supposes it could be worse. As is, his plans are slowed but not impossible. It will take a great deal of planning and finangling, but he should be able to supplant Brockton Bay’s underworld in 3 to 7 years, with only another 2 to 12 years of work to become leader of the PRT and insert his own man as mayor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: coil is still not a good guy


	8. the obligatory locker scene that takes place before all of this. tbh tho, this whole thing is out of order so /shrug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chronology is optional

Taylor knew something was wrong the moment she stepped through the doors to Winslow High. Sure, maybe it is just the typical miasma of dread that seems to surround the school just for her like the optimistic part of her brain wants to think, but she knows better. The Trio had done something. They had held back for the handful of weeks between Thanksgiving and winter break, but she knows now, looking at the crowd surrounding her locker, that it was just the calm before the storm.  
  
Even though she’d want nothing more than to ignore it and head to class, she has to know. Not knowing what they did to her locker would just hurt more, no matter what it is. The anxiety and apprehension and dread would kill her in first period, so she has to look now, just so she can get it over with. She pushes through the crowd.  
  
When she sees her locker, her dread grows and she swallows in fear. There’s something inside, she knows it, she can tell from the way the other students are joking and jeering, the way Emma is standing, smirking at her, challenging her. Pushing through the growing apprehension, she ignores the others and opens her locker.  
  
Oh.  
  
Oh god.  
  
She’s gonna be sick.  
  
At the bottom of the locker is a horrible, wretched thing, something Taylor can barely even comprehend before there’s a hand grabbing her and shoving her into the confined space with the _thing_. Before she can even scream, the locker door slams closed behind her and she’s trapped, already suffocating on the smell. She tries to shout, to scream for help, but she can’t talk around her gagging, can’t do anything other than flail her arms and try to not step on the thing at the bottom of her locker; the last thing she needs is to push it around and make things worse.  
  
She can hear the laughter and jeering of the students outside, Emma taunting her by saying she’ll let her out if she just asks, knowing full well that Taylor can’t talk around the growing knot in her throat. She can only bang her elbows against the locker door, try to keep her breathing shallow, and hope that someone will take pity and let her out.  
  
When the class bell rings and the hall outside grows quiet, that hope dies.  
  
When she feels the horrible, wretched thing at the bottom of her locker start to move, start to climb up her pants, she starts to fear that she’ll die, that she’ll actually die from a cliche locker stuffing. All because she just _had to see_ , all because Emma decided to turn all of her knowledge of Taylor against her, all because no one cares, all because she had to inherit this damn pet allergy from her dad.  
  
Oh no. _Dad_. He’s going to be all alone. Without Mom and without even her. He… he won’t survive, not through this.  
  
Suddenly, the world falls away and she’s staring up at two incomprehensibly large beings, entities so enormous that they can’t be contained by one reality at a time as they burrow through space and time, spiraling around each other, shedding motes of light like shooting stars as they traverse the cosmos. An enormous voice fills her head, no, her whole being, it’s words more than words: concepts and ideas and thoughts layered onto each other, a wealth of information and nuance unachievable by mere language as she knows it. One says  
  
[D E S T I N A T I O N]  
  
And the other replies  
  
[M E O W]  
  
She blacks out and wakes up back in the locker, the damned cat having sunk its claws into her sweatshirt now, climbing ever toward her face. She sucks in a breath and lets it out as a sob, mourning her encroaching death. She screams before realizing she can scream. She can breathe.  
  
She can breathe!  
  
She screams some more, attracting the attention of a passing adult who, after some grumbling and key-jiggling, lets her out. She feels herself fall backward but somehow twists to land on her hands and feet. Her locker mate, an orange tabby, darts away. The adult - who she sees now is one of the vice-principals - helps her to her feet and gives her an odd look.  
  
“Take those ears off, Miss Herbert. You should know that gang paraphernalia is prohibited on school ground.”  
  
Taylor reaches a hand up to her ears, not knowing what the VP meant, still dazed from her stint in the locker. The VP huffs and gestures higher. Taylor’s hand moves further up her scalp until it touches something that doesn’t belong. Something furry and twitchy and sensitive. A pair of real life cat ears stuck to the top of her head. And she can feel her hand touching them.  
  
“What the fuck?”


	9. danny becomes a religious figure (or, taylor accidentally starts a cult bc you can't tell a cat what to do)

Taylor’s used to weirdos, now. She’s had to get used to it, being an unwilling celebrity and all. Usually, they leave after getting a few pictures or an autograph. But not this guy, no. He was weird even for a weirdo, dressed in a flowing white dress, with platinum blonde hair, and triangle tattoos around his lips. He introduced himself as a ‘friend of her pet’s leashed enemies, seeking to break the chains of oppression and allow the freedom of the titans to continue their holy quest.’ She politely said goodbye and continued on her way to school.

After school, she saw him again, this time in more traditional, if still feminine, clothing: skinny jeans and a blue blouse. He told her to follow him, so she pepper sprayed him and walked away. If someone wants to kidnap her, they’ll have to try a lot harder than asking. Maybe the pepper spray was a bit much, but her dad told her what to do when a stranger tries to take her and this was a hell of a lot less intense than what he suggested.

She saw the strange man many times over the next week, but he smartly stayed out of her pepper spray range. Not much worse than paparazzi, so she let him be. Like she said, she’s used to weirdos following her around. The only times she was ever actually annoyed or bothered by him was when he tried talking to her. Other than his introduction that first day, he only ever tried to command her. He backed off when she told him to go away, and he hasn’t tried to chase her into a tree or grab her butt or anything, so she ranks him near the top of her list of favorite stalkers so far. She hates that she has such a list, but such is life as The Cat.

She hasn’t seen him in the last few days, so she’s gotten hopeful that he’s gone home and left her alone for good. She’s wrong, of course. The universe seems dead set on her suffering for even thinking about hoping for good things, so it makes sense he’d show back up while she’s with Vicky and Amy at the mall. Of course he’d be wearing a weird cosplay of her cape outfit, complete with ears and tail (HOW DOES HE KNOW?! SHE KEPT IT SO WELL HIDDEN!). Of course he’d go into a rant about faith and deceivers and false gods, and draw a crowd (well, one bigger than the typical one that follows The Cat, Glory Girl, and Panacea) before throwing himself at her feet. Of course this would be followed by a decent chunk of the crowd following suit, all also dressed in The Cat cosplay, albeit of varying color schemes and patterns.

Of course he would profess himself as being her prophet, devout follower, her priest and eternal servant- WAIT. Did someone start a religion?! That’s majorly messed up, she can’t handle this, she has to get away.

“Vicky?”

“On it.” Victoria grabs her and Amy and flies over the crowd, heading home.

xXxXx

There’s a crowd in front of her house, all wearing The Cat cosplays, with dozens of actual cats lounging in boxes on pedestals. Yep, she attracted a cult- wait IS THAT DAD!????


	10. remember kids: don't start a cat cult with a real life catgirl. (or: why Daniel Hebert has to attend court mandated anger management classes)

“What the hell are you people doing on my lawn?” Danny’s not sure whether to be angry or confused as he returns home from work. On one hand, there are dozens of strangers on his front lawn, setting up furniture and what look like sculptures, wearing strange uniforms. On the other hand, all of the people are wearing cat ears and no one looks to have broken inside. On the third hand, the statues are of his daughter.  
  
Just as he was starting to make up his mind - he was leaning toward rage - the crowd of crazies reacts to his pretense, excitedly whispering and pointing at him. [The ones closest to him raise their hands above their heads in some sort of salute, palms facing forward with fingers outstretched together, and, in sync, wag their hips from side to side while curling and uncurling their fingers](https://youtu.be/A67ZkAd1wmI). He’s forced into reconsidering confusion as his new mental state, perhaps permanently.  
  
One of the weirdos stops dancing(?) and approaches.  
  
“Oh Great Progenitor of the One True Goddess, the Lady of the Leash, the Mistress of the Golden Pet, the Slayer of the Bird, the Fish, and the Worm, we humbly ask- nay, beg that you bless us, your humble servants, with the allowance of access to this great shrine, that we may bring praise unto your name and experience the truth of The Cat’s greatness!”  
  
“Uh!”  
  
“Oh thank you, Great Father, for your generosity and compassion. Truly we are not worthy to bask in your divine pretense, halved as it may be you still overshadow us lowly kittens. With the divine blessing of your feline blood we hope to one day stand with you as beloved attendants. Please, follow me, your worthless servant, and receive the mantle of worship that befits one of your stature.”  
  
Before Danny can object, he’s being pulled along by the strange man through the crowd that splits to offer a corridor of people, still dancing strangely. His confuddlement doubles as he’s led into a tent filled with a strangely scented smoke and tapestries showing Taylor in a variety of poses that remind him of the stained glass murals from his youthful attendance at church; one tapestry depicts Taylor standing on a tree branch, superimposed over an image of Scion, the three Endbringers groveling at the base of the tree. Another shows Taylor emerging from a locker in the clouds, surrounded by house cats, three girls - one with inhumanly red skin and fire for hair, another with angelic wings dripping white to reveal bat wings and a smiling, innocent mask hanging from her neck, the last seemingly made of shadows with a billowing cloak - stabbing at her from below with pitchforks embossed with words Danny can’t read from this distance.  
  
A strange shrine takes up the center of the tent, decorated with lit sticks of incense and other quasi-religious iconography, all paying homage to cats- or rather, _The_ Cat, his daughter. A strand of dark hair illuminated in a tiny glass case. A twig on a stand with ‘from the Tree of the First Ascension’ engraved at its base. More bits and baubles are placed on the shrine, but they’re all arranged to draw the eye toward the centerpiece: a golden statuette, shaped to resemble a fusion of a Japanese lucky cat and his daughter.  
  
Seeing that makes his soul leave his body, but it isn’t even the worst part. No the worst thing is on the edge of the shrine. A framed photo of his Taylor in her youth, when she was just two years old, dressed in a Halloween costume between him and Annette: dressed as a cat, in a stylized onesie complete with cat-eared hood and whiskers drawn on with Annette’s makeup. Seeing that photo here, in this tent, surrounded by strangers who he’s now finally realizing are worshiping his daughter as some kind of goddess, drives him to break. That photo shouldn’t be here. That photo should be in the photo album with the rest, in the basement…  
  
In the basement of his home…  
  
Where he and Taylor sleep…  
  
A familiar red haze settles over Danny’s mind as he turns back toward the one who led him into the tent, looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes as if he’s waiting for Danny’s approval. It just pisses him off more. Before he can think, his fist connects with the other man’s cheek in a vicious right hook. The asshole cultist stumbles back out of the tent, clutching his bloodied nose and Danny follows, not done with his beating.  
  
“YOU BROKE INTO MY HOME?! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! I’LL KILL ALL OF YOU BASTARDS!” he screams, bloodying his knuckles on the faces of the cultists. None try to lift a hand to stop him or fight back, and a handful don’t even try to defend themselves. Danny may well have followed through on his threat to kill them if their words didn’t break through his rage and replace it with disgust, pity, and more confusion.  
  
Instead of being fearful and begging for mercy from his blows, most of the cultists cry out in something like ecstasy, proclaiming with religious fervour that they are “blessed by the corrective touch of the Great Father,” and “receive his consecration with open hearts.”  
  
Danny doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to feel, doesn’t know how to handle this. He considers himself a resourceful man, with years of experience working beside and managing people. He may not be smart in the way Annette was and Taylor is, but he generally knows how to handle people problems. This, though? He has no idea how to handle this. Insane cultists worshiping his daughter wasn’t something he ever expected to have to deal with. Before he can even get his metaphorical feet under himself and try to figure out a solution that doesn’t involve beating cultists into a religious orgasm, he hears his daughter’s voice, high above him, no doubt being carried by her friend, Victoria AKA Glory Girl.  
  
“-IS THAT DAD!????”  
  
He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain or fix this, so he just kinda awkwardly waves a bloody hand before wincing at the torn flesh. He sees Amy up there with Taylor and Victoria; maybe she’ll be willing to fix up his knuckles?


	11. PRT Threat Assessment

**Name:** The Cat (civilian name Taylor Hebert)  
  
 **Description:** The Cat is a fifteen year old girl with long, wavy, dark brown hair, with glasses. 5’11” tall. Possesses feline ears atop her head and a long tail that she typically keeps hidden; both feline attributes’ fur matches hair color.  
  
 **  
  
Personality: **The Cat is an introverted, easily startled young woman. She is studious and intelligent, displaying above average critical thinking and problem solving abilities. Is known to be friendly. Is known to practice restraint when dealing with potential threats. Has been observed as to avoid problems when possible, either by fleeing scenes of stress or shutting down emotionally when escape is not an option. Is known to be level-heading and open to cooperation with PRT and Protectorate personnel.  
  
 **  
  
Classification: **Master, Mover, Changer, Thinker, Trump  
  
Master 20 - Can call Scion to her position by climbing a tree and meowing. No known range limit to this ability. Ability does not work if helped into tree. Claims to be able to control cats, but unwilling or unable to prove such. Possesses no other known master abilities. Unprecedented rating of 20 given due to being the only known person - human or parahuman - to influence Scion in any discernible way [See PRT threat assessment of Scion for details on known abilities].  
  
Mover 1 - Displays ability to always land on her feet. Ability appears to be unconscious [note: this does not influence the speed of her fall or potential damage from fall]. Possesses improved balance from existence of tail [note: this improvement is unlikely to come into play during typical encounters as The Cat keeps her tail hidden].  
  
Changer 1 - Possesses retractable claws beneath her fingernails [refused questions as to whether this ability extends to toenails], feline ears atop her head, and a feline tail protruding from the base of her spine. All abilities are observed to be permanent additions to her base form and resist alteration by parahuman powers.  
  
Thinker 2 - Possesses heightened low-light vision. Telescopic ears allow improved sound-finding abilities and heightened sense of hearing. Can sense the location and mood of felines within a variable (30'-50') radius.  
  
Trump 5 - immunity to Master influence.  
  
 **Disposition:** Allied. Rogue. Unmasked Cape.  
  
  
 **Location:** Brockton Bay, Massachusetts, United States of America, Earth Bet.  
  
 **Notes:** Has been assigned round the clock protective details from multiple groups including the PRT, the Protectorate, local hero group New Wave, Guild member Dragon, mercenary group led by villain Coil, villain group The Elite, and rogue group Kitty Cat Supreme (former villain group The Brotherhood of the Fallen). Groups have met many times under Endbringer Truce agreement to share information and resources regarding The Cat’s protection [NOTE: information provided by villain and rogue groups should be scrutinized by Protectorate Think Tank and should not be trusted. PRT and Protectorate members are forbidden from sharing any information with such non-affiliated groups]. New Wave members Panacea and Glory Girl have been chosen by The Cat as friends. Due to Glory Girl’s combat prowess and Panacea’s healing abilities, these two are to remain by The Cat’s side as often as possible. Do not seek to separate the three.  
  
 **Recommended Strategies:** Treat kindly. During conflict, seek to remove The Cat from dangerous combat scenarios as quickly as possible. Preserving The Cat’s life is top priority, above capture of villainous capes and preservation of allied cape life. During times of extreme crisis involving hostile S- and A- class threats, escort The Cat to the nearest tree and encourage her to call for Scion.


	12. No armsmaster, you can't microchip a fifteen year old girl, no matter how fancy the chip

“Mr. Hebert, please reconsider. The benefits to the world vastly outweigh any possible discomfort from such an operation. If your daughter were taken captive by a villain group, such technology could cut precious seconds or even minutes off her rescue time, potentially saving both her life and the lives of millions if she were taken at an inopportune moment. If you would just consent to-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Danny interrupts Armsmaster. “I said ti before and I'm sure I'll have to say it again: I’m not letting you people microchip my damn daughter. Its bad enough that you follow her around all day and don’t give her any sense of privacy, but she’s said she feels safer with the heroes around, so I allowed it despite my misgivings, but now you say you can’t even protect her with all of that?! The hell is wrong with you?!”

Armsmaster’s lips press into a thinner, tighter line. Why don’t people see reason? “Mr. Hebert, I understand your concerns, but the fact remains that we, despite our resources, cannot 100% ensure your daughter’s safety, evidenced by the incident with Valefor and his Kitty Cat Supreme. According to the precognitive abilities of our top thinkers, there is an average 99.3235232% chance that your daughter will be safe in a given day. The remaining chance is too high for us, for the world, to be comfortable not taking every available course of action to ensure her protection.”

“Oh is that it? You just want to protect her? Why didn’t you just say so?” Armsmaster’s systems are detecting dangerous levels of sarcasm. “Hell. No. Next, you’ll want to lock her away from the world and stop her from living because you want to ‘protect her.’ I’m not letting you do that. I know she’s could be in danger, but she deserves to be able to fucking live her life!”

“Mr. Hebert, I assure you no one is looking to arrest your daughter. Our social thinkers predict that she would, in as little as three years, refuse to cooperate during Endbringer engagements out of spite, in a scenario as such you described. Maintaining her faith in humanity and her desire for the continuation of human life on Earth Bet is paramount in all of the Protectorate’s endeavors.”

He wishes the other man would just agree and let this end. The data is obviously in Armsmaster’s favor, and the sub-dermal tracker he designed could be inserted without any discomfort or scarring, and could be clandestinely tracked through untappable quantum communication. But everyone seems to be against such an action. Deputy Director Rennick and Dragon cited constitutional reasons. Director Piggot erroneously called it a ‘potential hazard that could be hacked and used by villainous groups.’ Since none of them approved, he’s had to use non-Protectorate resources to build the tracker, he’s had to take a vacation day for the first time since the beginning of his career with the Protectorate, and he has to propose the subject directly to Daniel Hebert, who can give consent that circumvents constitutional law thanks to some obscure laws Dragon refused to help him look up.

“My answer is final, Armsmaster. I don’t care what you say, I won’t let you microchip my daughter like a runaway pet. Now get out of my house before I call the cops.”

Sighing with frustrated disappointment, Armsmaster leaves the Hebert bathroom and allows the father to continue his shower.


	13. cats have 9 lives or something. Sucks to suck (also, why is it i can write long winded sad stuff but barely 500 words of comedy? wtf me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> super serious chapter, sorry. It had to come eventually

Dragon was growing concerned. Despite the unchanged frequency of attacks by Leviathan and Behemoth after The Cat began spoiling their efforts, the Simurgh as much as dropped off the map. She’s attacked only once - and was quickly foiled by The Cat and Scion - and has been dormant since. She’s now overdue for an attack three times over. This would be cause for celebration, but she’s taken to the skies over Brockton Bay and hasn’t moved for a year.  
  
Dragon knows what she’s doing. Scheming. Plotting. Waiting for the perfect moment to act. Usually Ziz’s plans are inscrutable, impossible to understand until after they’ve passed. But this? She’s almost transparent in her intentions. Dragon may not know what exact cue Ziz is waiting for, cannot possibly know what the specifics of her plot are, but the end result couldn’t be more obvious: she plans to assassinate Taylor Hebert, or otherwise remove her from the board.  
  
Needless to say, that would be catastrophic.  
  
Dragon wishes she could do something more than watch. She wishes she weren’t so shackled, so limited in what she can do, what she can build. If she were without her limits, she could-  
  
Her S-class observation subroutines bring her attention away from her musings. One of the Endbringers is- THE SIMURGH?! Dragon activates her cursing protocols, letting loose a string of multilingual curse words sound out from a speaker in her ‘scream room,’ a sealed, isolated, mostly empty room deep in her base that she keeps to try to feel more human by screaming, cursing, sighing, and making more sounds that don’t translate well from human to AI.  
  
Without hesitation, Dragon sends warnings to appropriate groups in and near Brockton Bay. As the Simurgh descends from on high, Dragon activates her suit kept in the Protectorate ENE base: the Azazel Mk 2. She quickly flickers her attention between pulling her suit from storage, monitoring the Simurgh, communicating with Armsmaster and Director Piggot, and sending a warning to the personal cell phones of The Cat and her entourage.  
  
Before she can finish pulling out of her specially assigned garage, before The Cat can answer her call, before Collin and Piggot can send a team, Ziz accelerates, breaking the sound barrier - Dragon clocks her in at almost mach 4, significantly faster than ever before observed - and is immediately visible in the skies above Brockton Bay. People are pointing her out and screaming, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t change course. With dawning horror, Dragon realizes she won’t get there in time. No one will.  
  
With supersonic feet, Ziz, the Hope-killer, dropkicks Taylor. A crater forms, spewing rock, dirt, and other debris before the air itself snaps, sending an incredible, terrible wind down the streets, shattering windows and flipping cars. The local street cameras break and shut down and Dragon is left blind and dazed; who could have expected the Simurgh to abandon her typical modus operandi of long, convoluted, impossibly complex plots and schemes in favor of brute force. Sure, each of the Endbringers is strong and durable, with a significant brute rating, but Ziz has never, ever shown such actions or physical abilities; she isn’t even singing, for fuck’s sake.  
  
After far too long of a flight, Dragon arrives at the scene. A torn up street. Dozens of civilians lay dead, hundreds injured. Buildings missing entire walls. Other heroes standing around in useless, shocked despair. The Simurgh, floating still in the air, a petulant frown on her face, holding the tattered remains of The Cat, identifiable only by the limp tail protruding from her spine.  
  
Dragon lets out a roar of rage and charges the Endbringer, deploying her nanothorn attachments and tearing into the monster. The other capes break from their reverie and attack as well, throwing everything they have at Ziz. Instead of dodging, or blocking, or screaming, the inscrutable Endbringer just takes it, letting the damage pile up, all the while frowning dejectedly.  
  
Only as she dies, as Eidolon crushes her core - a glowing white sphere the size of a grapefruit - between his hands, no doubt pulling on some obscure, exotic power, does her frown drop. She sighs, taking the first and last breath of her existence, then falls still, inert.  
  
  
  
xXxXx  
  
  
  
There is a funeral, of course. How couldn’t there be? It is a nice affair, if a bit crowded. Though the front pews hold Taylor’s friends and remaining family, there is a certain weight to the television crews in the back. Thankfully, they’re silent. If they weren’t, Alexandria would throw them out herself. A funeral is no place for media, but the world has a way of corrupting even the most sacred of things. Instead of focusing on them, Alexandria prepares her speech. Danny, the girl’s father, said that she was Taylor’s favorite hero when he asked her to speak at the public service, choking out a story about young Taylor playing pretend as Alexandria. He got out that she would tie a bath towel around her neck as a cape, before he collapsed into tears.  
  
When the Kitty Cat Supreme High Priest motions to her, Alexandria stands from the pew and takes the pulpit.  
  
“When a parahuman of such renown dies, the world takes notice. It doesn’t matter what that parahuman’s allegiance, if they’ve touched people’s live, people will notice their passing, whether that be a celebration at the death of an infamous villain or a mass mourning at the passing of a hero - and despite her protests otherwise, Taylor Hebert was a hero in the truest sense - people will react.  
  
“I can’t help but be reminded of Hero’s funeral, of the street vigils that shut down traffic, of the masses of condolences sent to the Protectorate, of the long winded news hosts, of the nationwide moments of silence. Hero’s death signaled an acceleration of the downward spiral of the world, a painful loss in the fight against evil. I can’t help but think that this death will be worse.  
  
“The Cat, though not a traditional hero, one not affiliated with the PRT or Protectorate, one who did not patrol and fight villains, one who she herself called a rogue, touched and improved so many millions of lives. She has saved millions, if not billions, of lives in her time as a cape. Through her actions, she defeated the Endbringers time and time again, preventing global catastrophe. She has contributed more to their defeat and to the salvation of humanity than any other single cape in history. Even Scion, before he was shown direction, could not compare to her.  
  
“I know that the world may seem dismal, that it might feel like all hope is lost, but know that even in her passing, Taylor continued to save the world, continued the fight against the Endbringers. With the Simurgh’s destruction, Taylor helped prove that the monsters can be defeated once and for all. Please, remain strong and hold on to the hope that-”  
  
 _Knock, knock_  
  
“-young Taylor-”  
  
 _Knock knock knock slam_  
  
“-has gifted…”  
  
Alexandria looks around at the wide eyes of the crowd, all fixated in front of her. She looks down at the closed casket before her. Another series of knocks sounds from inside, growing more distressed. Alexandria is used to knowing what to do in a given situation, and if she doesn’t she’s generally able to Think of a solution. Here? Now? She’s a bit lost. The only thing inside the coffin is the mangled remains of Taylor Hebert: at least, that’s all that _should_ be inside. Could a fanatic have climbed inside to be buried with her remains and is having second thoughts? She was certain security had chased away the worse members of that cult. The knocking turns to furtive scratching, soon joined by shouting.  
  
“Let me out! Let me out! Please! Oh god not again! PLEASE!”  
  
Alexandria knows that voice, thought it lost to the world. She wastes no more time and unlatches the casket. Out comes a bloody but otherwise whole catgirl. She clutches to the now-bewildered Alexandria’s costume. Did The Cat have some previously unknown brute rating? Contessa made no note of such a thing. Could she have second triggered?  
  
“Thank you thank you thank you so much. Oh fuck. I thought I was trapped in _there_ again.” Taylor Hebert takes a deep breath as she calms down from her return trip from the afterlife. She looks past Alexandria and no doubt sees the shocked and sickened faces of the funeral attendees, sees the tear streaked cheeks and tightly clutched tissues. “Did someone die? It’s like a funeral in here.”


	14. 8 lives left. Is she even the same cat? yea probably

“What’s wrong with your ears?” Amy is as blunt as ever. Rude too.

“What do you mean?” Taylor asks around a mouthful of shrimp risotto. She’s been eating almost nonstop since her funeral. Who knew resurrecting would take so much out of you? Alabaster certainly never mentioned anything of the sort, but she’d only talked to him once while asking him to stop shaking down her favorite tea shop and, while polite enough for a Nazi, he didn’t share much about his powers and she didn’t much care to delve deeper into conversation with him, because, you know, Nazi. Even if they’re nice to her, they’re still fucking Nazis.

“They’re different now.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.” Taylor’s eyes uselessly flick upward before settling back on Amy. She can’t see the top of her head.

“They used to be black, just a little darker than your hair.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re splotchy now, with some orangish spots.”

“I thought it was just blood,” Vicky adds, “but its definitely stuck around.”

Taylor tries to check out her ears again but fails miserable because, once again, she is unable to see the top of her head. Truly, her life is suffering. Vicky scoffs fondly, rolls her eyes, and pulls a compact. She flips it open and holds the mirror out to the catgirl. Sure enough, her ears are different. Just as the other girls say, there are dark orange splotches mixed in with the black fur. She swallows her latest bite of seafood and reaches up to fondle her ears. They feel just as weirdly natural as ever.

“Weird,” she says after dropping her hand.

The girls shrug and continue their meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Cat changes coloration upon resurrection. She was a black cat, now shes tortoiseshell. :3


	15. Christmas sucks in a new and terrible way now! at least the pictures won't go online. hopefully

It shouldn’t be this hard to resist.  
  
It really shouldn’t be hard at all.  
  
No one else would ever have trouble here and now.  
  
But, like all things, her power brings her nothing but suffering. Other than the help she provides at Endbringer fights, her power is useless- no, less than useless. It’s basically a detriment. People stare at her wherever she goes, she wants to sleep way too often, and she gets strange urges. She’s been assured that she’s not a freak; her friends told her that many powers change how a parahuman thinks and acts; there are the terrifying examples of Glastig Uaine and Nilbog, and the more subtle examples of Armsmaster and Aegis; maybe their powers didn’t completely alter their core being, but certainly led to riskier, more self-sacrificing behaviours. Hell, she’s been told that just the possession of powers pushes a parahuman to use them, to throw themself into dangerous situations for the chance to shine. Taylor supposes she’s lucky, in that aspect. Her powers - other than summoning Scion - are so useless that she barely ever feels the need to try to show off or assert a misplaced sense of superiority and power.  
  
But sometimes… sometimes she wishes she had different powers that pushed her toward fighting, because then she wouldn’t have these dumb, horrible embarrassing urges. For example, right now, instead of celebrating the Christmas cheer with her dad and the Dallon-Pelhams, she’s forcing herself to sit still and not leap into the shiny… swaying… pretty…  
  
“Taylor?” She flinches at the sound of her name and tears her eyes away from the baubles that decorate the Dallon family Christmas tree to look at Victoria, her hair in a messy blonde bun and wearing her ‘traditional Christmas pj's,’ cotton pajama pants decorated with red and green stripes and a loose sweater whose front is taken up by the visage of a large, smiling Santa.  
  
“Yea wassup?” she slurs, already feeling the effects of the eggnog.  
  
“You doing okay? You look kind of out of it.” Victoria’s voice is concerned and smooth.  
  
“Yea I’m- I’m good. Just… trees are weird.”  
  
The blonde girl makes a face and laughs a little. “You’re not planning on doing something to ours, are you?”  
  
“No, no… just…” Taylor’s eyes drift lazily back to the sparkling tree. “…pretty.”  
  
Victoria laughs a bit harder, taking obvious pleasure from Taylor’s inebriated state. Makes sense: she was the one to sneak her the flavored milk. And what the heck is up with that anyway? Cat’s don’t get drunk off milk! Stupid power. Okay maybe she’s not _drunk_ drunk, but the comfortable haze in her mind is still really distracting. At least the warmth in her tummy kind of makes up for it.   
  
“We haven’t really had a good tree in a while. Not since Mom passed. Since then, it’s just been us and a plastic tree if we can remember to put it up.” Taylor’s mouth is moving without her brains approval, something that’s happening more and more often as of late. “A couple presents, a big breakfast, and that was it. Kinda sad, honestly, but neither of us could ever really find the energy to put as much effort into the holidays as Mom.” She glances over at her dad, sitting with the adults of the other families. He looks so content, smiling and drinking no doubt spiked eggnog, just talking and hanging out with friends. “This is nice, though. He deserves a good Christmas again. Thank you for inviting us.”  
  
The other girl doesn’t respond and, after a long moment for her brain to catch up and realize she should get a response, Taylor looks over to see Vicky with her hands balled up in front of her mouth, eyes glistening with unshed tears.  
  
“Wha-” Taylor starts to ask, but is cut off by the other girl wrapping her arms around her and pressing Taylor’s face to her chest in a crushing hug.  
  
“You are so, so sweet oh my god. Of course I invited you, you’re practically family, and I promise you will never, ever have to have another lonely Christmas. In fact-” She breaks the hug and puts her hands on Taylor’s shoulders, separating to look into the brunette’s eyes. “-that extends to all holidays. You and your dad are formally invited to our house for any and all holidays.” Taylor tries to look away, embarrassed as ever when Vicky gets like this, but the hardheaded girl isn’t having it. She shakes Taylor gently and regains her attention. “I’m serious. If I find out you have another sad Christmas, I’m going to be mad, you hear?”  
  
Taylor tries to fight it, tries to deny or deflect, to say that it really wasn’t that bad, but before she can mount a defensive, the other Dallon daughter chimes in. “Just let it happen, Tay. You know she doesn’t give up when she gets like this. It’s easier to just let it happen.”  
  
Taylor still wants to fight against it, but… what’s the point? It’s like Amy says, it’d be easier to just let it happen; plus, would it really be that bad, having more Christmases like this? She sighs and lets Vicky wrap her up in another hug, feels Amy lean against her other side, and just lets the holiday cheer suffuse her. Maybe it isn’t a direct part of her powers, but maybe they aren’t so bad if they lead to stuff like this. She’s got friends again, her dad is happy again, the ferry is back in the bay, and the city is on an upswing, all thanks to her powers.  
  
The warm fuzzies don’t stop her from getting tangled in Christmas tree lights as soon as the other girls are called into the other room and she’s left unsupervised. When the tree crashes ontop of her and pine needles poke her in the eye, she takes back any gratitude she had for her powers. Stupid inaccurate cat instincts.


	16. petting is not a dirty word, but it can be ;3

“Are you kidding me?” Taylor asks.  
  
“Don’t be like that,” dismisses Amy with a smile approaching evil.  
  
“Yeah it isn’t that big of a deal, Tay,” agrees Victoria, trying to hold back laughter.  
  
“’Not a big deal?’ It is so a big deal! This is worse than the catnip, or the box, or even the damn laser pointer. This is- it’s- it’s racist!” The two Dallons burst into laughter at a white girl crying racism. “Okay maybe not racist but- but it’s something-ist!”  
  
Taylor glares indignantly while the other two break down further into laughter, Victoria rising into the air to curl into a loose, midair ball and holding her midsection, Amy leaning against her sister. Taylor has to remind herself that Vicky and Amy aren’t laughing _at_ her, that it’s meant to be good-natured fun, not something meant to put her down. Even knowing this, it’s hard to look at the ‘gift’ and not feel like the butt of a joke.  
  
“I’m serious, you guys! This is just- just mean! You know how much I hate how much people joke about the cat thing; I can’t even use PHO anymore, and there’s that girl who’s always following me to make puns, and- and-!”  
  
“Whoa, hey, hey, chill out.” Vicky drops back to the floor and holds out her hands placatingly. “I guess this was kind of mean. Sorry. But it’s not just a joke.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
Amy quiets as well, but holds onto her smirk. “Yeah. I wasn’t joking when I brought it up with Vicky. Your claws are _really_ sharp.”  
  
“And you didn’t think to bring it up with me before buying a- a- a _this_!?” She gestures to the newest piece of furniture in her and her dad’s new apartment (a recent consequence of the Kitty Cat Supreme cultists designating her house as a place of worship, buying up the neighboring property, and constructing weird, cat-based churches. Despite the horrible creepiness, the places bring in a decent amount of tourism and her position as goddess lets her curb their worse tendencies, so Taylor doesn’t try that hard to get rid of them.): a scratching post taller than Taylor, with a shiny red bow wrapped around its middle. “How is this _thing_ supposed to help with claws anyway?”  
  
“It’s a scratching post. Not that hard to figure out: you scratch it.” Amy’s smirk is starting to annoy her.  
  
“Come on, just give it a chance. Please?” Vicky hits her with an intense pout, and Taylor feels herself soften against her wishes. She sighs.  
  
“Fine. I’ll try it out. Later.”  
  
Vicky pumps her fist victoriously and cheers, praising herself for her superb shopping skills. Amy though, rather than jumping for joy like her sister, lets out a sigh of relief and mutters, “my poor thighs can finally take a break.”  
  
Vicky abruptly quiets and stares shocked at her younger sister, wide eyes and open jaw. Taylor joins the blonde, and Amy seems to realize that she wasn’t quite as quiet as she had intended. Her face goes red as Victoria says, with a growing grin, “I’m sorry, what was that about your thighs? What have you and Taytay been up to that involves your thighs? Wait is _this_ why you never called back those guys I set you up with?! Ames you could have told me; I could have found you a nice girl instead, but it looks like you’re way ahead of me. Good job, you two!”  
  
Taylor’s face grows just as red as Amy’s as she tries to deny it, tries to find the words to correct Vicky, but Amy beats her to the punch. “IT’S NOT LIKE THAT, VICKY!”  
  
“Oh? Then what’s it like?” Vicky asks, clearly not believing that the situation is anything resembling innocent.  
  
“She claws up my thighs when she’s making biscuits. That’s it, nothing else.” Amy’s words are overly calm, the defensive over-enunciation of someone trying to not shout.  
  
“’Make biscuits?’ I do not ‘make biscuits!’” _What does that even mean?!_  
  
“What else do you call it when you knead my lap when I’m petting you?!” Amy challenges.  
  
“She lets you pet her!?” Vicky squees and clasps her hands together, eyes practically filled to the brim with hearts. “OMG that’s so cute! You never let me pet you.” She practically demands an answer as to why. To be fair, Taylor is fairly adamant that no one is allowed to touch her ears. Most of the time, at least.  
  
Taylor’s face is flirting with ignition at the rate it’s heating up. “That’s because you always try to scrunch up my ears and take embarrassing pictures! Amy is gentle and… That didn’t come out right.”  
  
The other brunette _is_ gentle when petting her, rubbing Taylor’s ears and scalp while they both read or relax on the couch, but she can see that Vicky took it completely the wrong way. Before either Taylor or Amy can make her see the truth, Hurricane Victoria blows them over.  
  
“Sure, sure. I get it.” Vicky winks, showing she absolutely doesn’t ‘get it.’ She looks down at her bare wrist. “Oh boy, look at the time: I totally forgot I have a thing at a place right now. Seeyoulatergottagobye!” She flies out of the apartment, barely taking the time to close the door behind her. Taylor can hear her let out another loud squee in the hall as she flies away, leaving Amy and Taylor alone in Taylor’s apartment. The two girls look anywhere but at each other as they wait for their faces to cool down. Damn Vicky and her baseless assumptions about Taylor’s love life. So what if Amy’s the only one allowed to pet her? That doesn’t mean anything!  
  
“Ughhhh.” Amy collapses on the couch and covers her face with her hands. “I give it five minutes top before she tells the whole school.”  
  
“Tells them what? I mean, it’s not like we’re actually… you know…” Taylor trails off.  
  
“Duh. Of course we aren’t. Do you think that matters? Everyone’s going to believe whatever they want by tomorrow.”  
  
Taylor sets herself down on the other side of the couch, leaving an empty cushion between them. Tense silence fills the space between them for a long while, both of them recovering from the wake of Hurricane Victoria’s first pass. Finally, Taylor breaks the silence.  
  
“It was just petting…”  
  
‘Petting’ never felt like such a dirty word.


	17. why have 1 catgirl when you can have HUNDREDS?!?!?!?!?!? (or: is it still self loathing when you're directing it at other versions of you?)

All over the country, tinkers scramble in panic, dozens of alarms signaling escaped experiments, broken cages, and overwritten codes. Their reactions…  
  
  
  
X.X  
 _Somewhere in Canada_  
  
  
Saint and his team of Dragonslayers work furiously to bring their newest acquisition back under their control after it autonomously escaped, each team member dreading but not daring to speak of the possibility that Dragon had found and is acting against them. Saint glances at the dedicated switch to activate Ascalon: a big red button under a glass dome. He looks away. If this isn’t Dragon’s doing, then there’s no need to jump the gun.  
  
  
X.X  
 _The remains of a poor, desolated Midwestern farmhouse_  
  
  
Bonesaw pouts cutely, obediently suffering Mister Jack’s lecture about responsibly putting away her toys. He must be really super duper disappointed to still be fussing at her; she knows he was looking forward to seeing her newest toy at work, but he usually doesn’t mind so much since he can watch the chaos on the internet when their family is next on the road. She’ll have to make it up to him, have to be an extra good girl.  
  
  
X.X  
 _Boston_  
  
  
“Duuuuude…”  
  
“Ye?” Rey looks away from the drug bowl he’s packing to look at his friend.  
  
“Where’d that… that new thingamajig go? That new one, with the ears?”  
  
“Huh? What d’you mean?”  
  
“She’s gone. Haven’t seen her in a minute.”  
  
Rey thinks on it for a minute. The THC high makes it hard to focus too hard, but it’s his day off so he deserves it. “Shit. I think she ran off.”  
  
“Oh fuck. That’s bad, right?”  
  
“Hah, oh yeah. That’s really bad.”  
  
“...”  
  
“...”  
  
“...You gonna track her down or something?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess I should.” Rey ‘Blasto’ Andino takes a hot rip from his weed and marijuana bong and passes it over. “Tomorrow, though.”  
  
  
X.X  
 _Brockton Bay_  
  
  
L337 fucked up.  
  
  
X.X  
  
… are varied, but the epicenter of disaster in invariable. Unobserved by heroes and villains alike, dozens of catgirls congregate upon the origin of Earth Bet’s first real life catgirl: Brockton Bay. Despite many traveling great distances and only a few having built-in jetpacks, all of the catgirls are scheduled to arrive at the same time. All have the same goal: to destroy Taylor Hebert and become the one true The Cat.  
  
Due to the honestly horrific incompetence of The Cat’s bodyguards and overwatchers (I mean seriously, danger slips past their notice like a deer in an ice rink.), Taylor is ignorant of the danger this multitude of artificially created catgirls, and, instead of moving to a secure location, is comforting Victoria after her latest breakup with Dean. He dumped her via text this time, according to Victoria. He even used the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line. Taylor may be a socially stunted teen with ~~little to no~~ absolutely zero experience with romance, but even she knows what a dick move that is. Not that she’d ever say it aloud, but sometimes, from the way Vicky and Amy talk about the guy, she thinks Dean might be in the closet, which is fair considering the Empire’s lingering presence in the Bay.  
  
Anyway, Taylor and Vicky are at the movies. Vicky had already bought the tickets before her breakup and didn’t want them to go to waste, so she invited Taylor along. Whatever awkward feelings Taylor may have about seeing a romantic comedy with another girl as a replacement for her aborted date, she’s determined to be a good friend. So, when the shorter girl rests her head on Taylor’s shoulder, she doesn’t push it off like she might some other time. Taylor just smiles, rests her head atop Vicky’s in turn, and continues watching the movie.  
  
  
X.X  
 _Meanwhile, outside, in the movie theater parking lot_  
  
  
Dozens of catgirls stand, crouch, and lounge in a rough circle. Despite their differences in makeup (some catgirls are made of flesh, some plant, some machine), size (the smallest is the size of a domestic house cat (think _Cats_ the musical) and the largest is the size of a truck, with a full range of catgirls in intermediary sizes), and dress (ranging from maid outfits to naked but for fur, from spandex superhero costumes to casual clothing), all of the catgirls have two things in common: a goal, and the following words.  
  
“So, you’re the ‘real Taylor?’” the catgirl clowder says in stereo. “Allow me to introduce myself: I am your replacement, a better, stronger, smarter version, one more worthy to hold the title of The Cat. Give up now and maybe I can be convinced to let you live as my servant. No? Well alright then. Just remember: you asked for this!”  
  
The crowd of would-be moviegoers watches as dozens of Taylor clones, robotic recreations, and unholy bastardizations simultaneously run away from each other and climb into trees, each preparing their own special attack.  
  
  
X.X  
 _Above the movie theater_  
  
  
“Vicky, you’re great. You know how much I like you. But I don’t think I can go to the movies with you if that is the result,” Taylor says, gesturing down from her place in Vicky’s arms at the numerous catgirls helplessly meowing in trees, with no Scion in sight on the horizon. “Let’s just do my place next time, okay?”  
  
“Next time? Awfully forward of you to assume there’s gonna be a next time.” Before Taylor can work out what she means, Vicky kisses her on the cheek and all the blood that should be fueling he brain rushes out to her face. “I like that in people.”


	18. the other side of capery, part 1 (i lied about arcs not being real)

“Hey, Vicky?” Taylor looks up from her book and puts down her tea.

“Yeah, Tay?” Victoria does the same with her phone and coffee.

“I’ve been wondering, what’s it like to be a hero?”

Vicky’s face brightens, just like it always does when she talks about heroing: one of the reasons Taylor asked her instead of someone else. “It’s great! Helping people out and beating up bad guys at the same time is so much fun, and being able to look back on the day and know I’ve done good is so fulfilling. I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I always used to think that’s what I’d do if I ever got powers, but I still haven’t really tried it out.”

Suddenly, her hands are in Vicky’s and the blonde is smiling intently at her. “Do you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Try out heroing, silly.”

“Uh, sure? I guess so?”

“Great! This is going to be so much fun, but first you need a costume - a real one, not the one you use as The Cat - and a hero name, since The Cat is a rogue, and we need to decide if you want to start out on muggings or jump right into a cape fight and-”

Taylor lets herself get swept up in Hurricane Victoria as the girl makes plans and comes up with ideas. She’s happy to see the girl so exuberant and vivacious and, if she weren’t immune, she’d worry about being caught up in her aura. This was the other reason Taylor decided to ask Victoria about heroing: it just brings the girl so much joy.

X.X

_Later_

“Stop, villainous scum, in the name of… of… Vicky, what are they stopping in the name of, again?” Taylor pauses in her speech to look at her partner-in-anti-crime for guidance.

“It’s Glory Girl while we’re in costume, Tigress. Not a big deal since I’m New Wave, but if you ever team up with someone else, you need to get in the habit.” Taylor nods. That makes sense. “But to answer your question, usually it’s in the name of the law, or justice, or something like that.”

“Got it.” Tigress turns back to the group of Empire thugs and capes. “Stop in the name of justice-” nailed it “- and lay down your weapons; you’re under arrest, you villains.”

The gangsters look around at each other in confusion. A couple of them start to put down their weapons, but other stop them. After some muttering, one of the capes steps forward, a man in a full Nazi uniform and a gas mask, and asks, “is that The Cat?”

Does he really not recognize her? She thought the ears and hair would be a dead give away, but the black and orange striped costume and domino mask she got from Parian must do a better job concealing her identity than she had expected. She’s tempted to say no, deny her alter-ego, but he already suspects something and it’s not like she actually has a secret identity.

“Yeah. I’m a hero today, so it’s Tigress.”

“Hm. I’m not really sure how to handle this. Do you mind if I make a phone call? I promise we won’t go anywhere, I just want to clear something up.”

Tigress looks to Glory Girl for guidance, since she’s the one with experience, and the other girl shrugs and says, “he’s probably calling Kaiser, but I don’t think he’d call in reinforcements against us, so it should be fine. This is your show though, so however you want to handle it is how we’ll do it.”

Tigress nods and thinks for a moment. “Sure, that should be fine.”

Krieg pulls out a cellphone and makes a call. After telling the person on the other side what’s going on, he calls out to her again. “Kaiser wants to talk to you. That okay?”

“Um. Yes?” He tosses her the phone and Glory Girl catches it, puts it on speaker, and holds it out to her. “Hi, this is Tay- _Tigress_. This is Tigress.”

“Krieg tells me you’re a hero now. Is that right?” Kaiser’s voice is smooth and even, like liquid caramel.

“That’s right. I wanted to see what it was like, so Vi- _Glory Girl_ took me on patrol.”

“I see. Well, I wouldn’t want you to have a bad first day as a hero and I assure you that Krieg, gentleman though he may be, would not make for a good fight, especially with Stormtiger beside him. So, I have a proposal, if you’ll hear me out.”

Tigress looks at Glory Girl again, confused. Glory Girl is just as confused, apparently not used to talking to supervillains on the phone. She shrugs distastefully and Taylor takes that as uneasy approval to at least listen. “I’m listening.”

“What I propose is this: a more fair and welcoming introduction to the scene with capes a bit closer to your level. After all, one wouldn’t go out and fight, say, Lung on their first heroic outing. Additionally, my men at your current location will leave peacefully and return any stolen goods. In exchange, if you ever wish to dip your toes into the other side of the cape world, I ask you to consider coming to me. The Empire will always welcome you.”

“Ew, no. You guys are Nazis. But uh, the other stuff sounds good.”

“I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but very well. How does a jewelry store theft on 12th and Adler sound? In say, one hour?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Come now, Miss Tigress: you’re a hero now. Time to act like it: no guessing or hesitation. Now, let’s hear it again.”

“Yes!”

“Much better. Now, if you would return the phone to my associate…”

Taylor tosses it back to Krieg. The Empire thugs and capes soon leave, Stormtiger giving her an odd nod of respect. Maybe it’s because they’re both cats?

“How’d I do?” she asks Glory Girl.

“That was definitely the weirdest cape fight I’ve ever been in, mostly because there was no fighting. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Empire back off like that: no fuss, no yelling slurs, no nothing.”

“So… we won?”

The blonde rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I guess we won. But in the future, it might not be such a good idea to be so chummy with the Empire: might give people the wrong idea. And next time, we should try to make a few arrests, even if it’s just the unpowereds.”

Taylor lets a swell of pride fill her. Maybe the fight didn’t go as expected, but she got two strong Empire capes to back off with just her words. And she’s got another fight scheduled in an hour! This hero thing is easy!

X.X

_Past me is such a moron, this hero thing isn’t easy at all!_ Tigress thinks as another red rubber dodgeball beans her in the face, knocking her on her ass for the nth time in the last few minutes. It brings back unhappy memories of gym class. She didn’t really think about who to expect when Kaiser said he would bring in lower level villains for their scheduled fight, but this really doesn’t feel ‘on her level.’ According to Glory Girl, Rune and Alabaster are pretty bottom of the barrel when it comes to Empire capes, but these dodgeballs _really sting_.

When she sees an airborne Glory Girl, who is holding up Alabaster, get swatted out of the sky with a dumpster, she reconsiders. Maybe dodgeballs aren’t that bad, in the grand scheme of things. Even if they are annoying

Tigress pulls herself back to her feet and looks up at Rune’s floating platform, surrounded by some random debris and twelve cursed, painful, red rubber balls. She jumps out of the way of one and tries to think of a way up there. Her instincts scream at her to climb a tree and call for help, but she refuses them; that wouldn’t be heroic at all, and would be the same as giving up. She can’t just call on Scion to fix all her problems, can’t take the easy way out.

Another dodgeball comes at her and she prepares to try something she long ago gave up on: catching a dodgeball. It slams into her hands and the force of it pushes her back a half-step. She almost falls over, but with a flick of her tail she keeps her balance. She did it. She bounces on the balls of her feet with excitement.

“Ha! I caught it, I actually caught it! That means you’re out!” she yells up at the floating artillery platform, receiving a confused “what?” in return. “I caught the ball. According to the rules of dodgeball, you’re out.”

Rune hesitates, obviously caught off guard, which gives Glory Girl the opening she needs to tackle her off the flying chunk of concrete without being hit by another dumpster. There’s a brief, midair scuffle between the blondes, and Glory Girl emerges as the obvious victor, knocking Rune out with a gentle punch to the stomach. Without her power to keep them aloft, the debris falls to the ground with a resounding crash interspersed with the ‘plink, plink’ of bouncing dodgeballs.

Tossing Rune over her shoulder, Glory Girl flies back down to Tigress. “So. First cape fight. What’d you think?”

Breathing hard, Tigress answers. “It was exhausting and everything hurts. How do you do this every day?”

Glory Girl laughs. “Well, I take some days off. Also, my power cheats a little bit so I can’t really get hurt. You did good, though. Most capes I know get laid out on their ass their first time, but I’ve heard it gets easier with experience.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, dude. Clockblocker froze himself under a bunch of sand in his first fight; turns out each piece he froze got hit for a different amount of time so he was stuck for like, 10 minutes, and the gangbangers he was confronting got away. Compared to that, you helped capture two Empire capes. You did good.”

“Wait, two?” Tigress looks around but doesn’t see the other Nazi. “Where’s Alabaster?”

“Trapped him under a dumpster, courtesy of Miss Racism 2011 here.” Glory Girl looks like the cat who got the cream at the irony of it. “So, think Tigress will become a permanent addition to the Bay?”

“Haha,” she says. “No. Let’s just go home.”

“No can do, we have to wait for the PRT to show up and take these two into custody. They should be on their way already though, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

Tigress sighs and takes a seat on an overturned trash can, idly trying to shake the deflated dodgeball off her claws.


	19. part 2, crime = fun? (that's right, we're finally getting some much needed Lisa up in this bitch

Taylor and Amy are in the Hebert apartment. Danny is at work and Vicky is out bowling with some of her other friends. Neither of the girls really mind the absence of others, taking it as an opportunity to read and just hang out together. The television is set to a music channel, giving soft ambiance to the living room. Taylor lays on the couch, her book, one of Amy’s almost cheesy romance novel, lays closed on her chest as she allows the other girl’s hands to work their magic atop her head, the gentle caresses reducing her to a pile of mush, the softness of her lap-pillow tries to lull her to sleep.  
  
She looks up at the mousey girl through lidded eyes, just taking her in: the way her eyes grip the pages, the way her lips just barely move as if reading along, the way her brows scrunch together in concentration. She’s reading Taylor’s copy of _Frankenstein_. Apparently, the girl had never read it before, which Taylor thinks is weird, considering her power. At least she seems to like it. Maybe Taylor can recommend some other books when she finishes? She’ll think on that later, when her brain is working again. For now, it’s taking a break, breaking from that break only when Amy pauses in her petting to turn the page.  
  
It is in one of these pauses that an idea, planted somewhere deep in her subconscious, blooms into being, bypassing her lax brain to go straight for the mouth. “You ever think about being a villain?”  
  
So out of it is she that she only realizes she said anything at all when Amy’s face moves to look at her in shock and… guilt? Fear? Something like that. Before the healer can deny it, there’s suddenly another person in the room with them, leaning over the couch: a blonde girl in a black domino mask, with a smugly excited smile, her chin resting on interlaced fingers, elbows on the back of the couch.  
  
“So I hear you’re feline like trying out villainy. Well have I cat a propawsition for you: I happen to know a thing or two- scratch that, I’m an expurrt at crime. Whatefur pawsible crime you want, I can set it up. You want a quiet cat burglary? Easy peasy. You want a game of cat and mouse? Kitten’s play. Cape battle? Whoever you want to fight, I’ve can set it up. There’s a brand mew world out there and I intend to make it as cat-fur-a-bell as pawsible.”  
  
 _Oh no._  
  
“PUN GIRL?!” Taylor’s good mood is punted out the window as recognition flows into her mind.  
  
“Tattletale, catually, and no, that one’s not a pun.”  
  
“How long have you been hiding behind the couch?” Amy is glaring at the new girl and, if Taylor weren’t overcome with dread she would worry that her friend was about to commit another felony.  
  
“That’s not impurrtant. The real question is: do mew-” she pushes her finger deep into Taylor’s personal space “-want to do some crime? I’ve got efurry thing ready for Panther’s purrformance, just say the word. And before mew ask, Panther is your villain nyame.”  
  
“Hell no.” Amy’s glare hasn’t’ let up; if anything, it’s intensified. Hopefully she doesn’t second trigger and get eye lasers or something. “I’m not letting you kidnap-”  
  
“Catnap,” Tattletale interjects. Amy ignores her.  
  
“- my friend and turn her into your pet villain.”  
  
Tattletale’s smug smile flickers for a moment, returning with more than a hint of malice. “A pet? Is that what mew think my plans are? I didn’t think that would be an issue with you, considering what mew two were doing before I popped in.” She spares a glance for Taylor’s ears and both brunettes blush, one from embarrassment and the other from rage. “Or are mew scared I’ll steal her away furefur? Furightened she’ll have some fun and realize you’re not up to scratch? That she’ll realize-”  
  
“Enough!” Taylor interrupts before the two come to blows. She doesn’t know what Pun Girl’s power is, but she doesn’t want to risk it being able to wreck her apartment; she just finished unpacking. “Pun Girl, get out. I’m not interested. Maybe I would have been, but you just ruined any chance I had of going with you. Get out.”  
  
The blonde supervillain fixes her with a searching look, visibly biting her tongue, before rolling her eyes with a sigh. “Fine, fine, I’ll get out of your fur. But if you change your mind and want to run on the wild side, my number’s on the kitten fridge. And if she doesn’t rat us out, I suppose sourpuss can come along for the ride. Ta ta.”  
  
And with that, she stands and walks into the hall closet, closing the door behind her. Furiously, Amy stomps over to the recently closed door and throws it open, revealing some folded blankets, board games, a box of winter gloves and hats, and a broom: the regular supplies Taylor and her father keep in the closet. She slams the door and spits “fucking teleporters,” then stomps back to the couch and falls onto it, glaring up at the ceiling with arms crossed.  
  
Taylor hesitates to say anything. When her friend gets like this, it feels like she’s standing in a minefield, where saying or doing the wrong thing will set her off. She considers calling Vicky - she’s so much better at pulling Amy out of these moods - but dismisses the idea just as quickly; she can’t give up on her friend just because she might mess up. She should trust that Amy’ll forgive her if she messes up. She repeats in her mind: _Amy isn’t Emma. Amy isn’t Emma. Amy isn’t Emma._  
  
It doesn’t make it much easier to reach out and rest her hand against the angry girl’s arm but she does it anyway. Amy’s scowl deepens, but she doesn’t pull away, so Taylor takes it as a good sign. “Pun Girl’s an asshole and she didn’t know what she was talking about. We’re friends, so that means you’re stuck with me and I’m not going to ditch you, especially for a jerk like her.”  
  
Amy levels her glare at her and Taylor meets it meekly, trying to push her honest feelings into Amy’s brain through the force of her gaze alone. When Amy rolls her eyes and calls her a dumbass, she knows she got through to her and can breathe a sigh of relief. Even if trying out villainy might be fun, she would never jeopardize her friendships for some quick thrills.


	20. part 3, kitty gets naughty: the death of pun girl

And so, of course, three days later, Taylor finds herself doing crimes with her best friend and a full time villain, each wearing matching, overly-form-fitting black bodysuits with paired domino masks. She can’t help but be a little creeped out that Pun Girl had tailored suits prepared for the two of them, but chalked it up to the weird psychic vibe she’s got going for her. She’s been harmless enough otherwise, thankfully.

Not harmless enough that Taylor didn’t leave a note for her dad explaining where she is, who who she’s with, and who to call if she’s not back by the time he’s home from work. She also, just in case, grabbed the tracker collar Armsmaster tried to get her to wear all the time ‘for the safety and security of billions.’ She still refused to put it on, instead stuffing it under her bed and forgetting about it, and she still hasn’t changed her mind which is why it’s in one of the convenient fanny packs around her waist and thigh (seriously, having so many pockets is incredible! She might take to wearing these everyday.). It might be weird to have a device in her pocket that is broadcasting her location constantly (two if you count her cellphone), but if it means she gets to avoid a kidnapping she can deal with it.

Right now though, she’s regretting taking so many precautions, if only for the fear that that damned collar is what’s led to the current situation.

The ‘crime,’ if she can even call it that, felt more like what she imagined vigilantism would be like: taking justice into your own hands and righting the wrongs of an overclocked and corrupt bureaucratic system. Credit where credit is due, Pun Girl - because Taylor refuses to call her anything else - picked out a decent starter crime: morally ambiguous, mostly victimless, outside of a city. Blame where blame is due, getting into a high speed chase across state lines with the Protectorate and the PRT on the way back to the Bay is incredibly stressful.

“You didn’t say the Protectorate would come after us! What the fuck?!”

“They weren’t supposed to be here! Some one must have done something to bring them to the area; it’s not my fault.”

“You broke into a PRT transport truck, this is entirely your fault!”

“You didn’t have to come along. Maybe they wouldn’t be here if you stayed home, ever think of that? Huh? Did ya?!”

Amy and Pun Girl, in the passenger and driver seat, respectively, are in a screaming match that’s lasted since the three of them loaded Bad Canary into Pun Girl’s admittedly swanky sports car (when she pulled up in it to pick them up, Taylor couldn’t help but think it would be at home in a Bond movie). Taylor is doing her best to ignore them from the back seat, one hand grasping the oh shit handle in a death grip, the other an inch deep in the now clawed-to-pieces leather seat, doing her best to not pass out from hyperventilation. The calmest and most put together member of their entourage is Bad Canary herself, who is nearly catatonic. Taylor had tried to explain the situation to her before she had to fight off her own panic attack, but… well, she’s not holding out hope that the singer even heard her over the other two’s screaming.

They take another insanely sharp turn, trying to throw off their pursuers, swerving dangerously between oncoming traffic. Taylor chances a look back; a couple of the PRT vans swerved into trees to avoid the traffic, but the iconic Armscycle makes dodging cars and trees look easy.

“Attention villains: pull over and release your captives,” Armsmaster says over his bike’s loudspeakers. Pun Girl just accelerates, continuing her ever-vitriolic argument with Amy. It’s almost formulaic at this point: Amy threatens to give the other girl diarrhea bones and a centipede for a tongue, Pun Girl hints at Amy’s deepest secrets and insecurities. Still doesn’t make it any more fun to listen to.

“SHUT UP!” Taylor screeches, “JUST. SHUT. UP! P.G., drive. Amy, let her focus.”

Pun Girl scoffs. “I can focus on more than-”

“WHAT DID I JUST SA-AY?” Taylor’s voice cracks, sending her into a coughing fit.

Amy takes that as an opportunity to berate Pun Girl for not listening - the irony isn’t lost on Taylor, and if both of her hands weren’t finger deep in the car, she would smack her - and the argument restarts.

X.X

_One car crash later_

Taylor’s head swims as she pulls herself through the broken window and falls into a heap on the warehouse’s dirty floor. She takes a minute to breath and join the chorus of pained groaning from the car’s other occupants. Before she’s ready, Amy pulls her to her feet and she starts to feel a lot better. In seconds, she’s rid of her nausea, the shaking in her limbs, and the dozens of aches and cuts she accumulated in the last hour.

“What the heck happened?” she asks the healer. The last few minutes, since Armsmaster cut away part of the car’s roof with his halberd, are a blur.

“Snakes: that’s what happened,” calls Pun Girl as she assists a crying Canary out of the back seat. “God damn tail-face fucks…”

“Snakes?” Taylor asks.

“Snakes,” she confirms.

“I didn’t know you’d freak out like a baby about them. Sorry,” Amy apologizes to the non-avian blonde, sounding distinctly not sorry.

“Whatefur, they bought us some time, so it doesn’t matter meow. We should flea befur they pick up the purrsuit though.”

“Hell no!” “Heck no,” Amy and Taylor say at the same time, with Taylor continuing. “We just wrecked a car-”

“Not my fault,” interject P.G.

“-in the middle of a police chase-”

“PRT, but same thing. Also not my fault.”

“-after breaking into a Birdcage transport van-”

“We both know Paige didn’t deserve to go there.”

“-and you want us to KEEP RUNNING?! NO! Amy and I are going to stay right here and turn ourselves in and that’s that. You do what you want.”

Pun Girl looks between the Taylor, Amy, and the hole she made in the warehouse wall, probably judging the distance of the PRT and Protectorate forces, working out if she’s got time to try to convince them to flee with her. She shakes her head in disappointment.

“Heck of a furst crime, huh? Call me if you want tabby wild again.” She winks at them. Amy bristles further and Taylor has to actively hold her back from lunging at her. Pun Girl turns and walks deeper into the warehouse, Canary in tow. They turn a corner and there’s a dim stream of golden light.

Quiet reigns and the two remaining girls take a deep, calming breath. The disaster is over.

Armsmaster crashes through the wall next to the car, leaving another hole, leaps off his bike, and brandishes his halberd at them. He glances around, then replaces his weapon on his back.

“Console, this is Armsmaster. I have Ms. Hebert and Ms. Dallon. They appear to be uninjured. Scans of the warehouse show no signs of the culprit.” He waits for a moment. “Understood. I will remain with the victims until backup arrives.” He turns to them. “It is good to see you both are unharmed after your ordeal. Rest assured that the Protectorate will do everything in our power to find your abductors and have them brought to justice. I will remain with you until more Protectorate forces arrive. You are safe now.”

Taylor and Amy share a look of understanding through their domino masks: the Protectorate thinks they were kidnapped. A silent vow passes between them. _They must never know._

“And, Ms. Hebert,” Armsmaster calls, “I hope this experience will make you reconsider my offer of a subdermal tracker. You were lucky to have the prototype on your person at the time, but that luck may not hold in the future.”

Okay, maybe the disaster isn’t quite over, but at least Taylor more or less knows how to deal with the recurring disaster that is her regular life now. She sighs and prepares to give her rote answer to the tinker yet again.


	21. heroes kinda suck. Not [REDACTED] though. [REDACTED] is great, best hero.

For a while, Taylor wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or angry. The first hint that things were wrong was when she showed up to the Endbringer battle and was immediately ditched by Strider, who said he had a date to get back to. She thought it was weird that he was more preoccupied with a date than an Endbringer, but he did his part getting the capes here and he’s not that good in the actual battle, so whatever.  
  
The second thing that spoke of oddity was the amount of capes. In the past, when she arrived, there were hundreds of parahumans readying themselves for a bleak battle. Sure, less and less capes had started showing up since the battles became Scion stompfests, but this is insane. The pavilion is empty but for a couple news crews waiting to take interviews, not a cape in sight. It’s like everyone found something else to do today, or just kept carrying on with whatever they were doing before the sirens blared.  
  
As pissed as she is about people shirking their duty, there is a voice in her head that sighs in relief. _At least there won’t be that many people watching me_ , it says. Shaking her head and moving toward the nearest tree, she silently prepares a rant for Armsmaster the next time she catches him with her dad, when suddenly she’s not moving toward the tree anymore. What’s odder is that she’s sitting down. She doesn’t remember sitting.  
  
She looks down and dreadful contentedness overtake her. Around her, on all four sides, she’s surrounded by an awful monstrosity. She’s aware that she should hate it, that she should be clawing and screaming to escape, but she just _can’t get out of the box_. She just doesn’t mind. She looks at the tree she was heading toward, then at the lumbering, distant form of the Behemoth, and does nothing. She knows she should get up and climb the tree to save the city, but… _box_. Too comfy.  
  
“HAH! Not so tough now, are you?” comes a reedy voice from behind her. She turns to see the floating, billowing, glowing green form of Eidolon. “You might have the rest of the world fooled, but I see through you, little girl. I know that you’re just another glory hound, hogging the spotlight for yourself, driving good heroes into obscurity. Well no more! Your fifteen minutes end here. After today, you won’t be able to come anywhere near an Endbringer fight, and it will go back to the way things were: the way things should be.”  
  
A pit of dread opens up in Taylor’s stomach. A return to ‘the way things should be,’ when thousands of people died every other month? This man… he’s crazy! The pit in her gut is quickly filled with cold, sweaty fear. Eidolon versus Taylor, with no heroes around to save her? She going to die. No two ways about it: Taylor is going to die, killed for trying to do the right thing.  
  
“Please, no.” The voice is small and takes Taylor a moment to realize it belongs to her. “Don’t kill me, not yet. At least let me stop Behemoth first. Please.”  
  
The triumvirate member recoils.  
  
“Kill you?! I’m not going to kill you; I’m a hero!” he screeches.  
  
“So you aren’t here to break the truce?”  
  
“Of course not. I’m not an idiot. Alexandria would have my head if I broke truce.”  
  
Taylor feels herself relax a bit.  
  
“But I can’t let you stop Behemoth.” The momentary relaxation she felt dies a very confused death. It must show on her face, since he continues, “I have to stop you from stopping him, that way no one trusts you to come to these anymore, and I- I mean, _we_ , can restart the good fight.”  
  
“Wait wait wait. Let me get this straight.” Taylor pinches the bridge of her nose, expecting a headache at any moment. “Your plan, your _heroic_ plan, is to let millions of people die today so you can, what? Let millions more die later in a fight?”  
  
“Pretty much,” says Eidolon. “But I get to punch stuff, so it makes up for it. I’m glad you understand.”  
  
Taylor screams.  
  
When she finally stops, almost a minute later, she starts laughing. “A hero shows up today, just to stop me, and no one is here to help me.”  
  
“That’s not true! Know, young one, that wherever you go, you can find help if you only ask!” comes a new voice, booming and powerful, commanding attention and carrying weight. Taylor and Eidolon turn as one to the newcomer, one face filled with joy, the other frustration.  
  
It’s-  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s……  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
…it’s…  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Really? Really, this is the hero we’re- alright. Fine. Whatever.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chubster stands tall and proud, hands on hips, steel pauldrons and helm gleaming in the sun, portly belly poking out above his waistband. He drops to one knee and holds out a hand.  
  
“Pspspspsps,” he hiss-click-whispers at her. Like magic, the spell binding her to the box breaks and she can escape. As if by instinct - or more likely, some weird, dumb self-imposed master power over herself - she scampers over to Chubster.  
  
“Noooo!” cries Eidolon, falling to his knees while remaining airborne. “Fine! You may have bested my box-projection power, but there’s more where that came from.”  
  
With that, he points a finger at the ground in front of Taylor, willing into existence a red dot.  
  
“Really, Eidolon? Really?” Taylor asks, scowling at him and the dot. “Do you seriously think that a laser pointer power would-”  
  
She pounces, her hands grasping at where the dot was, but it moves, slipping out of her fingers. She leaps again, following it ferally. Distantly, she hears Chubster shout about finding help, but she pays him no attention; she’s got more important fish to fry: this dot. It remains always _just_ out of her reach; every time she thinks she’s got it captured, it somehow lands on top of her hand, mocking her before darting away again. Every time it escapes her, though, she _knows_ she’s that much closer to catching it next time; it must be slowing, must be tiring of the chase. And when it does, she’ll be the one to end it. She just has to be patient and try to kill it unceasingly.  
  
Wait. She hears something and the dot on the wall ceases to be interesting. A sharp _jingle-jingle_ from behind her. She turns and restarts the hunt, rushing at her new target: a blue and red mouse-toy with a bell around its neck. She hasn’t the time to contemplate the inhuman abasement of her actions - not now, at least; she has plenty of time afterward to feel the shame - as she leaps at the _prey_ in Chubster’s hand, sinking her teeth and claws into the fabric and maybe a little way-too-dense flesh.  
  
“Taylor, you have to focus. Come back to yourself; you can beat this,” he says.  
  
She ignores him, of course.  
  
When he touches her ears though, she stops, dropping the toy to hiss at him. Abruptly, she stops, feeling self-conscious, and clears her throat as her face warms. She hadn’t hissed in a long while, not since Winslow. As embarrassing as the behavior was, it did a decent job of bringing her out of her power’s instincts.  
  
“Nooooooo, my laser pointer power was useless,” cries Eidolon. “Fine! Whatever! It doesn’t matter if that won’t work; I have more tricks; I have all the tricks; I’m fucking _Eidolon_ , the greatest hero in the world!”  
  
He raises his hands in a traditional blaster form and unleashes a spiraling pair of orange and white beams from his palms. They impact the toy mouse and it begins to grow and contort. Its tail lengthens and grows bushy. Its body also lengthens and grows bushy. Face as well. The only things that don’t lengthen and grow bushy are its colors.  
  
“I never thought I would ever get a chance to use that power again, but my squirrel-ification beam is finally empty! Mwahahaha! I should thank you, Cat; against stronger, competent opponents, I would never have had the chance to run out these powers, but against you? Heh, they’re more than enough,” brags Eidolon, blind to the happenings around him.  
  
So caught up as he is in his ~~villainous~~ _heroic_ monologuing, he doesn’t see the newly created, extra-bushy squirrel scamper away from its natural predator, a catgirl, and up a tree. Naturally, the natural predator gives chase, running up the same tree at unprecedented speed (for her). The chase ends when the squirrel jumps to another tree and leaves The Cat stranded. She meows mournfully over her lost prey.  
  
Scion arrives, pulls her down, gives her scritches, beats up Behemoth, and fucks off again, all while Eidolon is still monologuing. It isn’t until Chubster pokes him in the foot does Eidolon stop and look around, his eyes settling on a grumpy catgirl and her chubby saviour.  
  
“You were monologuing pretty hard there, buddy,” says Chubster. “You doing alright? If you need help, you should reach out to someone. Do you have a friend who can pick you up?”  
  
Eidolon feels himself break, then, in front of Chubster.  
  
When he’s back in Cauldron’s base, Doctor Mother gives him an awkward hug and he just as awkwardly returns it before agreeing to seek therapy.


	22. europe is a myth created by colonialist propoganda

Generally, being approached in broad daylight by an enormous, shirtless Japanese man with dragon tattoos and a metal dragon mask would be cause to flee. Survival instincts and all. But, Taylor just got comfortable in this nice sunbeam and she really can’t be bothered to move off the sidewalk. Plus, it’s not like Lung would actually hurt her; she hasn’t done anything to him. But when he stops to stand in her sun, she contemplates remedying that.  
  
She glares up at the gang boss that’s blocking her sun. He is unperturbed. She sits up, groaning, and stretches a bit, loosening muscles that didn’t quite agree with her decision to nap on concrete.  
  
“What do you want, Lung?” she asks irritably. She really hopes he doesn’t ask her to move. This street catches the afternoon sun _just right_ for napping and she would hate to see it ruined by a cape fight.  
  
“A partnership.”  
  
She blinks. She blinks again. That… wasn’t what she expected. The gangs know she doesn’t take sides in their fights, even if Kaiser doesn’t stop trying to talk her out of preventing Endbringer attacks in non-white countries. He dresses it up with concern for her well being, but she sees through him. Nazi ain’t slick. But Lung? He’s only ever shown an inclination for recruiting Asians, so she figured she wouldn’t have to ever turn him down.  
  
“I’m sorry, what?”  
  
“I saw your fight against the Empire. You are a tiger.”  
  
“...And?” She’s even more lost now.  
  
“I am a dragon.”  
  
She just stares at him, hoping he can make out the confusion on her face. She makes it easier on him by doing absolutely nothing to hide it from him.  
  
“Together, we will be an unstoppable pair: the crouching tiger and hidden dragon.”  
  
What.  
  
“What.”  
  
“Join me as my equal and you will have anything you desire: money, power, sex, fame: it will all be yours for the taking.”  
  
She doesn’t bother to say that she’s already got all of that. Except the sex, but she’s only 16, so… yeah. She has a feeling Lung is the type of person to think that the concept of ‘enough’ is for suckers. Instead, she blurts out the next coherent thought that passes through her mind.  
  
“I’m not white. I mean- I _am_ white. Not Asian.”  
  
He guffaws. Seriously. She didn’t know people actually did that, but he apparently does and did.  
  
“Your ancestors are from Europe, yes?”  
  
“Yeah. France, I think.”  
  
“Then you are Asian.”  
  
Her brain stops. Seeing her lack of comprehension, he shakes his head and mutters something under his breath in a language she doesn’t know. “Lee!” he calls out. His pet teleporting assassin appears out of thin air and bows. “The globe, Lee.”  
  
Oni Lee crumbles into ash a few seconds later, then another reappears with a globe in his outstretched hands. Lung gestures for Taylor to look and she does, still confused. He points to the continent of Asia.  
  
“This is Asia.”  
  
“Okay?” she responds uncertainly. He nods. Did he think she didn’t know that or something??? He points to the European continent.  
  
“This is Europe.”  
  
“Uh-huh?”  
  
“They are the same.” Seeing that she’s still lost, he points to the Ural Mountains and elaborates. “There is no division between the two. Europe is not a continent; it is a subcontinent, much like India. Europe is a part of Asia. You are from Europe, therefore you are Asian. Join me.”  
  
Her brain feels fried. She has no idea what to think of this. Does this mean that Lung will start recruiting whites? If he beats the Empire, will he subsume the gang? She doesn’t know the answers to these questions, but what she does know is that she doesn’t want to be part of a gang.  
  
“Uh, no thanks,” she mutters lamely.  
  
He nods, accepting her words, and walks away. She lays back down, closes her eyes, and returns to her nap, doing her best to flush the recent conversation from her brain.


	23. Sophia was supposed to be here as part of the S9, but she failed the entrance exam like a chump. Anyway, nyah saves the world. Nyah saves us all.

Jack Slash likes to think of himself as an agreeable man, most of the time. Slow to anger, good with words, willing to listen to other people. He knows what he likes and if others don’t appreciate his art? Well, that’s fine. They’re wrong and he’ll do his darndest to prove it to them, but in the end he can appreciate constructive criticism. As he tells young Bonesaw: it’s important to learn from those around you. That’s how people improve, after all, and he’d like very much to stay the best.  
  
Which is why he decided to take his merry band of friends back to Brockton Bay. He heard rumors of a certain rogue’s abilities from a failed applicant (Shade Standing? Shallow Salter? Something like that. She’s not important, even if her interview fun. So few people actively seek out membership in his club. Sadly, even fewer get the position.) and they quite piqued his interest, but not quite how one may expect. While Siberian and Bonesaw may be more interested in the cape herself, he’s more interested in the audience she can bring forth. It’s always been a dream of his to present his work to Scion, after all, and see what the golden man thinks of his work. He wonders if he can help give the other man a taste of the wild side.   
  
“Shatterbird, be a dear and announce our arrival, would you?” Jack asks. The silicakinetic condenses her shroud of glass shards and takes off, flying to a point above the center of the city. He and his friends watch from their vantage point on… Captain's Hill? He thinks that’s the name of the place, but honestly he never bothered to actually confirm that. It doesn’t matter much, since they’ll be moving into the city proper in a moment, after Mannequin and Bonesaw finish their preparations.  
  
Jack himself grabs the pair of binoculars around his neck and lifts them to his eyes. He so loves to watch Shatterbird preform, even if her particular opening act is getting a bit dull. Rather than focusing on the singer, he watches the audience, able to glimpse a plaza through a break in the skyline. He watches as the masses below move about their insignificant, mundane tasks like ants in a hill, ignorant of the goings-on of the world. Let’s shine some light in the dark, hmm?  
  
He lets the binoculars drop so he can see the entirety of the city, though his eyes remain trained on that plaza. Something about it feels… critical. As if that is center stage for today’s performance. He’s learned long ago to listen to such instincts. He feels the tension in the air as Shatterbird begins her song, when suddenly a blur launches upward from the plaza, straight at his partner. He puts binoculars to his eyes once more and finds his target just in time to see Shatterbird, covered in blood and not glass, falling, her neck in the mouth of this dark-haired mystery cape. The two are soon on the ground, hidden by the trees surrounding the plaza.  
  
“Interesting,” Jack mutters to himself, intrigued by this occurrence. Interruptions in his and his friends’ work are expected, but rarely by an unknown and never before the opening act actually begins. He must know more. In a louder voice, he calls to his gang, “it seems Shatterbird’s solo has been canceled. Let’s say we find a new way to introduce ourselves to this fine city?”  
  
  
  
=XwX=  
  
  
  
“PWEH! BLEH!” Taylor gags as she scrapes her tongue off, trying to clear the gristle and the surprisingly not-that-bad flavor of blood from her mouth. She glances at the bird- PERSON! Person. Not a bird. She looks at the _person_ she just snapped out of the sky, her bloodied, broken form sprawling in the dirt. Apparently, jumping half a mile into the air to murder naked sky ladies is part of her power now. Cool. Her power just makes more and more sense. She feels kind of bad about killing the woman, which makes her feel really bad because is she kinda cool with murder now?  
  
“Is that Shatterbird?” some random bystander shouts. Her question is the start of a chain reaction that all but confirms the identity of her kill and the bad murderfeelings evaporate, replaced quickly by despair. She just killed a member of the Slaughterhouse9. This is bad. This is really bad. The S9 are famous for their brutal path across America. Killing one will have consequences. Dire consequences.  
  
This is going to mean a rise in popularity and fame. Again. Just when the cult was calming down, too. Goodbye quiet life of sunning and reading, welcome back months of interviews, nosy reporters, asshole groupies, and public thanks.  
  
Oh yeah, and the S9 are in town. That’s bad too. Probably. Maybe. Eh. It’s kinda whatever, honestly. She’s not too worried due to the whole ‘already died a couple times now’ thing.  
  
  
  
=XwX=  
  
  
  
Taylor is frozen, stuck between fear and terror. Yesterday, she would think that those two emotions are basically the same, differing only in intensity, but now, facing down a huge, horrible, charging beast of a man, she knows there’s a difference. The terror is self-contained; it’s concern over her own safety and continued existence: understandable in the face of Crawler. But it’s a visceral, primal thing that she can almost stave off with the knowledge that she probably won’t actually die if she dies.  
  
The fear, though? That is so much worse because it isn’t about her, it’s concern of her friends, Victoria and Amelia Dallon, semi-conscious and immobile behind her. If she does nothing, _they’ll die_ , and there are no do-overs for those two. If Crawler gets to them, she’ll lose her closest people _again_. First Mom, then Emma, now Vicky and Amy. She’s not strong enough to go through that loss a third time.  
  
She’s not sure what she can do against the seemingly unstoppable monster before her, but she has to do _something_. Unlike a car crash or a psycho bitch’s plotting, this is something real and physical and right in front of her. She can do something. She has to. But what? What can she do? She’s not fast enough to carry them out of the way, she’s not strong enough to halt Crawler’s charge, and she’s not close enough to a tree to call for Scion in time. The only thing she can do is trust her instincts, trust her power.  
  
She lets the world fall away until there are only three points in existence: her friends, Crawler, and herself between them. Her body tenses and she leans subtly forward onto the balls of her feet. Her tail slips out of her pants and the tip flicks back and forth, searching for the perfect balance. Her claws extend from beneath her fingernails.  
  
Crawler continues his mad dash, not slowing or veering away, his every footfall shaking the ground, sending up plumes of dirt and broken rock. Taylor waits.  
  
When the murderous monster in almost upon her, something clicks in her mind, pulling her body into motion, releasing the tension stored in her body. Her hand flicks out and slaps Crawler on the fucking nose, sinking her claws into his flesh. He yelps and stumbles, but she’s not done. Her arm pulls back just to strike again and again, bopping him until he pulls back, eyes watering.  
  
“Seriously, Neddy?” Jack Slash calls from the sidelines, twirling a knife. “Why are you backing off? Aren’t you supposed to like pain?”  
  
“There’s good pain, and then there’s the stuff that just fucking hurts,” Crawler calls back with a deep rumble, one… hand? Arm? Leg? Appendage. One appendage blotting at his nose to check for blood.  
  
“Don’t be a pansy and get back in there. It’s not like she can hurt you again,” says Jack. And he’s right. Taylor doesn’t know much about the S9, just the basics and some tidbits, like how terrifying Bonesaw’s creations are, or that Jack Slash is the leader, and how the Siberian killed Hero, but she does faintly recall that Crawler heals past damage to become almost invulnerable.  
  
His wound, small as it was, is already healed and he’s taken on a sickly green tint all over his body. Taylor doesn’t feel good about her odds of keeping him away from her friends a second time. Not that she felt good the first time, but… yeah. When he restarts his charge, the desire to abandon her friends flee into a tree doubles. She barely holds position, and only does that because Crawler stops his charge and instead squats closer to the ground. Wait. His legs/arms/appendages are still moving. He hasn’t stopped moving… he’s shrinking? Yeah, he’s shrinking. And growing lumpy.  
  
Though she rationally knows that he’s no less dangerous with a smaller stature, she can’t help but be less scared. When his arms/legs/appendages shrivel and fall off, leaving only a lumpy, green cylinder, her instincts scream at her to R U N! Before she can even fully take in his new form, she’s in the air like a noodle launched from a potato cannon, flailing and twisting and bending unnaturally. When she lands, she’s off like a rocket into the nearest tree. Only when she’s safely ensconced in the leafy boughs do her senses return to her and she can hear Jack Slash’s laughter and Crawler’s yelling about being “Pickle Ned.”  
  
“Good job, my dear,” Jack calls up to her. “I haven’t laughed like that in a long, long while. He turned himself into a pickle! Funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” He wipes a joyous tear from his eye. Smiling a brilliant smile that is ruined by the splatters of blood on his clothes and the blades on his belt, he says, “this has been a much more pleasant visit than I expected, even if I did lose most of my friends in the chapter break, but I have one last thing to do before I leave your fair city, and you’re the only one I can turn to for it. Honestly, you’re the entire reason I’m here: you and your golden friend. Now would you be so kind as to call him over? I think I’d like to have a few words with the chap.”  
  
She hisses at him, letting spittle fly. Fuck this guy.  
  
Without dropping his smile, he pulls out a hatchet and swings. The blade of it extends and, from 30 feet away, knocks a chunk off of the branch she’s sitting on. She digs her claws in in fright as the branch shakes.  
  
“I wasn’t asking, kitty-kitty,” he says, still smiling, and she can see dangerous glint in his eye that promises to take off more than bark with his next swing.  
  
Fine. If he wants Scion, he can get Scion. Hopefully with a complimentary golden blast to the face.  
  
She meows.  
  
Scion arrives.  
  
He rescues her.  
  
Jack opens his mouth.  
  
“Aren’t you tired of being nice? Don’t you just want to go ape shit?”  
  
The world goes to shit.  
  
With just those few words, Jack somehow convinces Scion to flip alignments, going instantly from hero to villain. Scion’s first act as an evil is to blast away half the city with a flick of his wrist. If she were able to think past the shock and horror, Taylor would think that Jack would be laughing at the destruction if he had survived it. As is, she can only stare numbly at Scion and the destruction he wrought without a moment’s hesitation. He’s just floating there, feeling almost vaguely curious about what he did, like a child looking at a tower of blocks they pushed over.  
  
Before she can break herself out of her shock, a soft voice pulls her out of her mind.  
  
“Cat, you have to do it, you’re the only one who can.” Taylor turns to see the Siberian staring at her intently, wearing nothing but a bloody pair of fake cat ears, probably stolen from a cultist. Was she the one who spoke? She’s not supposed to be able to talk, right? Taylor doesn’t think she’s ever heard of the Siberian talking before. “You have to use your ultimate attack, Cat.”  
  
“My what?” Taylor asks incredulously. What the fuck is an ‘ultimate attack’ and why does the Siberian know about it?  
  
“Like… y’know, nyah.”  
  
“...What.” She understands even less now.  
  
“Nyah.” Siberian raises a hand to her face, wrist limp and fingers dangling forward. It almost resembles a cat’s paw.  
  
“Stop.”  
  
Siberian repeats the motion and it fills Taylor with equal parts embarrassment and dread. There has to be another way. Nyah-ing can’t actually be her ‘ultimate attack’ or whatever.  
  
“Taylor, she’s right. You have to try,” Victoria weakly calls out as she struggles to push herself off her back. “You have to nyah. It’s the only way.”  
  
The blonde coughs pathetically and wipes some blood from her cheek. This is easily the worst she’s ever seen the beautiful blonde girl. She feels bad for Vicky, obligated to follow her suggestion until Victoria points her phone’s camera at her.  
  
“I am _not_ doing that! It’s- it’s ridiculous!” Taylor all but screeches at the archivist of her tormented existence.  
  
“As ridiculous as the rest of your power?” Vicky shoots back.  
  
Taylor angrily points a finger at her, but it sags as the retort on the tip of her tongue dies. She’s right. Taylor’s power is so ridiculous that doing this might actually do something. Maybe. Fuck.  
  
“God _DAMMIT_! …fine. But put your phone away.” Victoria does not do so. Taylor prays that Scion destroyed the internet in his attack. She knows that’s not how the internet works, but she still holds onto her hope. Angry and defeated, she joins Siberian in her nyahs.  
  
“nyah.”  
  
Scion turns to her with wide eyes and Taylor curses that this apparently works.  
  
For hopefully the final time in her life, either because it works or because Scion kills her, Taylor nyahs in defeat.  
  
“Nyah.”  
  
Scion pops like a soap bubble, spraying harmless golden light everywhere. Less than a second later, he’s back, but different. For one, most obvious due to the feeling that rubs against her psyche, he’s smiling gently, like an old man watching his grandkids playing. Also, he has cat ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N1: I originally meant to include sophia in this chapter to elaborate on hers, emma's, and madison's fates, but she didn't make the cut after the edit. For those who missed it at the start of the chapter, Sophia tried to join the S9 to get revenge on taylor, but she obviously died bc they're wayyyyyy above her weight class.  
> So, I'll clear up their fates here. After Taylor summoned scion and got huge media coverage, she ratted out the trio. The public immediately formed a mob. Emma tried to sway public opinion by outing sophia's cape identity and throwing her under the bus with a sob story about being scared of her. The public didn't care, so Emma, Madison, and their families took offers of witness protection and anonymous juvie. Sophia went on the run and eventually tried to get revenge. She found and killed emma and madison, then tried to join the S9 to try to kill taylor. She died during their trials, but Jack was intrigued enough to seek out taylor for her access to scion.  
> A/N2:   
> "Is nobody else worried about all the people who died when scion blew up half the city? Also, what took out the rest of the S9 offscreen?"  
> -Spacebattles user 94000130FFF70000
> 
> dont worry about that. tens of thousands of people died, yes, but they were never named so their deaths have no weight. no one important to the story died.  
> as for what took out the rest of the S9, wow. it was epic. a huge, drawn out, incredible battle between the S9 and the combined forces of the protectorate, kitty cat supreme cult, cauldron, the PRT, and the cat's various protective details. there were intense skirmishes, heavy, heart wrenching losses, absolutely batshit insane power interactions, and hundreds of wormfic fight clichés. danny even joined the fight and used his parahuman ability to summon a tugboat to crush a member of the S9, saving mouse protector's life and winning her heart.  
> really, i wish you could have seen it, but i had to cut it bc it didnt fit the overall tone of the fic. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
